Dream of the Sea - Short story contest by Le Van Than

My aunt returned in the middle of the stormy sea. My father stopped me from running out to greet her. In the short distance between the three of us, there were no rows of casuarina trees stretching endlessly, only the deep alleys in my aunt’s eyes, in my father’s long-lasting anger.

The zither has been the same for many years, still tirelessly working on the sand, waiting for anyone to return?

"If you go by yourself, you will know the way back."

Father called out, his hands removing a few suffocated fish from the mesh of the net. The fish lay dry in the gloom of the stormy season, lying at the bottom of the pot, hastily arranged in a meal without a woman's hand. Me and father's meals, between two men, everywhere we looked, there was silence and emptiness.

"Clean water from the jar, wash away the saltiness."

Father looked up and spoke to his aunt. The school of fish struggled to escape the melon-colored net. Father's voice began to fade away in the sound of the wind whistling across the sand. The saltiness of the sea haunted the lives of fishermen. At night, people's hearts were as noisy as the waves. Auntie nodded slightly in response to Father, then quietly bowed and went into the house, just as she had left.

Dad married her when his longing for his mother had gradually subsided. They called it a wedding, but they only organized three meals and a few boxes of betel. She had a rough figure and a mouth like a protruding fish, as the villagers said. The stories of the fishing villagers revolved around the sea. Beauty was like a fish, and ugliness also brought fish in.

The day mother died, father went up the sand dunes with a half-empty bottle of white wine. He drank the remaining half until the day ended, until the moon rose and illuminated the white sand.

ILLUSTRATION: VAN NGUYEN

During the days when father was drunk, aunt was alone busy cooking for the family.

The sea began to storm. One night when my father staggered back from the sand dunes, my aunt said: "If you don't have the courage to die, you have to live like a human being." The two words "human being" were stuck in my aunt's throat, the rustling of the casuarinas sounded very close, blowing away a girl's life. My aunt only said one sentence and left. I lay on the other side pretending to sleep, my aunt's tiptoeing was very clear and stopped by my bed for a long time, the storm was stopping behind the door, my aunt's heart was a storm. I didn't open my eyes but knew my aunt was looking at me, her breath was blowing softly in the gloom of a dark night. I didn't have enough courage to hold my aunt's hand. My aunt would have to find her own happiness in the future, like the sea hibiscus flower that always heads towards the shore. I thought so and was extremely angry with my father. My aunt left because of my father's constant drunkenness? She had worked so hard for this house and in the end, she received nothing but wasted effort. The next morning, when the sea was still sleepy in the mist, I did not know if the sea was really asleep, but last night my father kept the lights on until dawn. The voices of fishermen began to rise like a broken beehive. The children had dropped out of school, early letting their dreams drift away with the sea.

The absence of his aunt awakened his father.

In the morning, my father took me to the sea. In the evening, my aunt took me to the vastness of my patchwork memories. The vastness of the sea, the vastness of white sand, the vastness of distant dreams.

My father drowned me in the salty sea water. My father said that if you were born in the sea, you must know how to swim to make a living. I struggled like a fish caught in a net. I choked on water and my head kept shaking. My father said: "If you want to see the deep sea, lower your head. The ocean is vast because it chooses the lowest place." I argued with my father, wondering why my father didn't lower his pride during the years with my aunt. He was as arrogant as the lord of the ocean. My father swung his hand and slapped me hard, what do children know? Every night when my father looked up at my mother's portrait, I stole a glance and couldn't be angry with him. I knew that man was also deep like the sea. My mother passed away, and my father set up a jar of fresh water to the right of the entrance. My father told the family members to wash their feet when they entered the house. One time, my aunt forgot and was scolded by my father. She remained silent and looked down at her dirty feet. I did as he said without fully understanding what my father meant.

Another day, my father taught me to cast a net. He took off his shirt to reveal his muscular chest, the line he cast was smoother than my mother's hair. He cast as if he wanted to throw away all the resentment in his heart, he threw away the nightly awakenings that rose up like white foam.

During my teenage years, my body was as skinny as a fish whose soul had been drained. I quickly absorbed my father's teachings but lacked the strength to swing the net. The illusion of wandering weighed heavily on my shoulders. My father said nothing but his eyes showed utter disappointment.

I knew early on that I did not belong to the ocean. Throughout my childhood I never had a single dream of the ocean, only a herd of white horses pulling me up the mountain, away from the roar of the waves.

The villagers said that my mother gave birth to me in the summer, on a hill of prickly grass. The sun broke above my head, the prickly grass rolled in the wind. That day, my father was fishing in a distant sea. Later, in stories that evoked memories, he said that it was the most unsuccessful sea voyage of his life. Sometimes, I doubted the connection between my presence and that voyage. The waves of memory searched for a sea that my father could not name. I cried loudly on the tufts of thorny grass. My body was full of prickly grass flowers. Was that why later, my mind was also covered with thorns? When I stopped at a certain point in my life, when I looked back, I saw that everyone who touched me bled.

***

Auntie returned, busy with the work of the old days. In the morning she cut fish for hire, in the afternoon she came back to make fish sauce. Dad still worked hard at sea.

The meal when my aunt came home was also more decent, with amaranth soup cooked with shrimp and braised mackerel. My father ate more than usual. For the first time, I saw my father picking up food for my aunt. A moment of peace rose in my heart. Looking at my father's attitude towards my aunt, I understood that he had tried very hard to change. After eating, my father stood up and went out to turn the basket of dried fish, and one day my aunt would package it and take it to the market to sell and buy fresh meat. The delicious meals would continue forever. I suddenly jerked out of my wandering thoughts when my aunt asked, "What do you think, T?". At that time, my father's footsteps had gone very far.

"I'm still the same, aunt. Maybe I'll go to town to learn a trade."

"What about your father?"

"I will feel more secure with you here" - I replied.

"What you mean is dad wants me to stay at sea."

"I know."

She was silent.

In the afternoon, the sky was unusually clear. I remember my father once said that it was a sign of an approaching storm. In the distance, my aunt and father were mending their nets to catch some fish and shrimp on a rough day. The floating basket boats carried the fate of people. On the sand dunes, herds of yellow cows dragged the grasslands far away, nomads spent their lives searching for new lands, a moment in life loving the footsteps. At night, the creaking sound of the bed frame from the gentle turning over. The sound of bamboo, the sound of bamboo called back to the sleep.

"What storm number is this, aunt?"

She shook her head and said she didn't remember.

***

"I'm going to town to learn to draw."

I said to my father one clear morning.

Father did not object but his eyes were sad. He said, choose a stable life, do not live a transient life.

After a few weeks, I returned home because I was dissatisfied with my art teacher. I remember screaming like a raging wave, I knocked over the easel in front of dozens of eyes when the teacher asked all students to be naked when drawing. I didn't wait for him to give a convincing reason for this sick request. He wanted to turn us naked like a school of stranded fish, struggling to find freedom. He grabbed me by the collar, hey finless creatures, pick up your paintbrush and swim into our world . Hey T, aren't your ancestors fish? He roared. I ran out of the gallery, behind me were human faces with fish bodies. Catfish, mullet, croaker... so many strange names, my father once got angry just because I couldn't tell them apart.

This defeat was like a bucket of cold water poured on my face.

Sometimes, one person's failure is another person's joy. This time, I followed my father's wishes and learned to go to sea. At least for now, I felt it was a safe choice, when I thought of the face of the art teacher. My father laughed loudly and said this boy was good. My aunt also smiled because of my father's joy. With his decades of experience at sea, my father believed he would teach me to be talented. I had no talent yet, but disaster was right in front of me. I removed my father's heavy hand from my shoulder, "No, I don't need you to teach me." My father's expression changed, "What do you mean?" You want to find a teacher, which means you won't be home. My father said, "Okay, that's fine." He let me go, like the afternoon when I let my shadow fall on the sea.

The yellow season of the cosmos flowers has passed, but I still hold in my father's heart my worries and concerns.

My aunt prepared a farewell dinner for me as I set off on my journey to "study the way of the master". The meal included fish salad with fig leaves, a plate of boiled sweet potato leaves, and wine. The out-of-season sweet potato leaves tasted bitter in my mouth.

"I'm leaving tomorrow, don't worry, dad and aunt."

During the days I was gone, the house remained unchanged. The pillows were still on each bed, one on each bed, not moving. This time I didn’t ask, my aunt said the storm had dissipated into a low pressure area, there would be widespread rain. She told me to go to bed early. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Tomorrow I leave, my father will tie the roof to avoid the wind. My aunt runs out to the garden to pick the remaining gourds and pumpkins. At night, the only night left for the two of us is the night of wishes, they give me hope for many things. In truth, there are no schools of fish swimming around every night. My father still faces the wall, and on the other side is my aunt. On the altar, my mother smiles gently like a fairy.

***

My teacher's name was Quy. He said, "Just call me old Quy, I don't teach anyone, the word 'teacher' is very heavy." He continued, "But hey, my name is Quy, but I've been standing upright all my life, I've never knelt before anyone." Old Quy lived alone in a palm-leaf thatched hut, his house facing the sea. When I first met him, he said, "Go home." I shook my head, not understanding. "You're not suited to the sea, my child," he said. "Your eyes are not steady, all my life I've watched fish run, but I can't help but see people." I begged him for a long time before he reluctantly nodded. "Well, you stay, I'm happy to have someone to keep me company."

The first lesson he taught me was not the ocean. He stood up, turned on the stove to heat up a pot of goby. He sprinkled pepper and muttered, "Poor love-sick goby." A moment later, he came out, holding a bottle of wine in his hand. The rain was getting heavier and heavier, the sky was pitch black. Suddenly, the wind changed direction, throwing rain into the air, causing him to reach out and wipe his face, revealing pensive eyes. This time, he chuckled as if he was choking. Looking at him, I didn't know how many nights he had spent sitting alone, wasting his life with such sad memories.

The night was gloomy and windy. The old man said that every species has a voice, even fish. That was his experience at sea, which he had accumulated over many years. His story reminded me of the story of the loneliest whale on the planet, a lonely whale that was desperately searching for its own kind.

"Humans have many voices, so their hearts are also gloomy," he rubbed his hands to keep warm, his voice hoarse. Lying in the middle of the vast waves at night, with old Quy, the wild horse inside me grew even bigger. Tomorrow, I will go to the sea with old Quy again, carrying a net on my shoulder to weave distant wishes. When his shadow disappears, I will follow his footprints on the sand. And when I reach the sea, I will start calling out his name, because the sea has no footprints.

Meeting him, I was like a storm bird resting on a rock for a long flight. A night away from home, I dreamed of an Angel giving my aunt a baby, and looking at my father smiling.

The wild horse inside me galloped, galloping alone across the vast grassland. And behind me, the prickly grass began to sprout, without a single footprint.

Source: https://thanhnien.vn/chiem-bao-bien-truyen-ngan-du-thi-cua-le-van-than-18525110816005123.htm