"Mom, come inside, don't stand there in the cold! My wife and I are going to town this afternoon to get medicine, you stay home and eat dinner first," Phi's voice echoed from the porch.
She slowly turned back inside, picking up a coconut fiber broom to sweep away the fallen leaves of the Terminalia catappa tree in front of the gate. This season the Terminalia catappa trees are in bloom; last night there was a storm, and this morning the flowers have fallen, turning the yard purple. Lately, she often reminisces about her youth, about sitting with Phi's father on a boat going upstream. From the age of seventeen, she helped her mother go around the village gathering bananas to sell at the big markets in the town. Phi's father, out of love, was devoted to her until the day he married her. They got married one year, the next year she gave birth to Phi, and the year after that the boat sank while going upstream; Phi's father never returned…
"Grandma, can I have some water?" - a child's soft voice whispered outside the gate.
She looked out. By the hibiscus bushes, a little girl, about nine years old, in an orange tracksuit, held out an aluminum basin to her, grinning: "Grandma, can I come in and get some water?" She hurried to open the gate; she knew this little girl—the granddaughter of the blind old man sharpening knives and scissors who often sat by the stump of the banyan tree. She pointed to the well in the corner of the garden: "There, you can take as much as you want!"
The nimble little girl lowered the bucket, bent her back, and scooped up water to fill the aluminum basin, then lowered the bucket again to scoop more. The old woman stopped sweeping and watched. The girl scooped up several more buckets of water and poured them into the nearby water basin. The old woman suddenly remembered the basin had been dry since yesterday. “Leave it there, dear, I’ll fill it up later!” Without a word, the girl continued bending her back to fill the basin before toddling out with the basin. At the gate, she didn’t forget to turn back and give the old woman a shy smile: “Thank you, Grandma!”
She watched the little girl with pity. The girl walked towards the stump of the banyan tree, placing the basin of water down beside the blind old man. The old man diligently sharpened his knife, occasionally pausing to splash water onto the whetstone before continuing. The afternoon sun cast pale, shimmering rays on him. In this entire Dốc Tình hamlet, any household whose knives, scissors, or axes were dull or worn would bring them to the blind old man to sharpen, even though every household had a perfectly good stone sharpener; they still brought them to him to earn a few pennies to buy rice.
Many people in the neighborhood teased him, saying the blind old man was the happiest person. During floods, while everyone else was scrambling, he didn't seem to see the rising water, so his face remained serene. Since the little girl started coming and going, the old man had been able to sharpen more knives, and he could walk more cautiously than before. No one asked, but the neighbors guessed she was a relative. Every day, she would stop by, bringing him a lunchbox of rice, sometimes with stir-fried beans and meat, other times with stewed shrimp in pepper sauce. After finishing his work, the old man would wash his hands and happily eat the rice from the lunchbox. At those times, the little girl would help him serve the rice while whispering stories – stories the old woman couldn't quite hear, but she saw him smile. She also often asked the old woman for well water to wash his hair, combing his sparse head of hair. The old man was truly blessed to have such a granddaughter.
She turned back into the house, stifling a sigh. The gentle sigh drifted on the wind towards the river. Phi and his wife had been married for over six years and still had no children. Whatever money they earned, they would spend on medical treatments. Recently, they heard about a very skilled traditional medicine practitioner in town, so they went there together. From the river came the sound of a bittern calling in the evening. She looked out, and a bittern with a handful of dry grass in its beak flew towards the end of the field. She went back into the kitchen, busied herself reheating the stewed fish, scooped a bowl of rice, and sat on the porch, her eyes again gazing out at the river. The evening shadows licked against the kitchen eaves, creating a flickering streak of light, the last rays of the day slowly creeping across the wall before fading into the quiet twilight.
***
The news of the blind old man sharpening knives and scissors who passed away last night spread throughout the Dốc Tình village, and everyone felt sorry for him. Each person lent a hand in ensuring he had a proper burial. The late afternoon sun was scorching, when suddenly a thunderstorm raged, and everyone hurried home, leaving the little girl huddled in the corner of the hut, looking out, a small, soaking wet kitten in her arms, meowing weakly.
“Why don’t you go help Grandma out? Don’t let it rain and be windy tonight…” – the old woman lingered, sitting down beside the little girl. “I’ll go, leaving Grandpa alone in the cold, it would be a pity for him!” – the little girl looked up at the makeshift altar the neighbors had set up, with a plate of fruit, a chrysanthemum branch beside an incense burner emitting smoke. The old woman pulled her closer, her eyes welling up with tears. “Grandpa’s gone, do you have any other relatives left?” she asked. The little girl shook her head and whispered, “I don’t have anyone else. I lived with my grandmother since my mother gave birth to me. After Grandpa passed away, I got a job washing dishes at a restaurant in town. That day, the owner sent me to this neighborhood for some business. I passed by and saw Grandpa sitting there sharpening knives, his eyesight failing, so I started going to keep him company! Later, the owner found out and asked me to bring him lunch every day.” The little girl recounted slowly, her childlike face losing its light.
"Oh, so the old man isn't related to you?" the woman exclaimed in surprise. "No!" the girl shook her head, her eyes glancing back at the altar. Seeing the incense had burned out, she stood up and lit another, murmuring, "I'll stay here with Grandpa to keep warm. I have to go back to my mistress's house in a few days, okay, Grandpa?"
Outside, the storm had subsided, and the cold moonlight, like mist, poured down onto the silvery road. She looked up at the wisps of incense smoke tracing the shapes of hearts. Did the smoke warm her, or was it the little girl's heart that warmed her? She sat silently, inhaling the scent of the smoke, letting it sting her teary eyes. Beside the crescent moon slanted into the spacious, windy hut, the little girl sat motionless, her eyes shining like two stars, her body hunched like a hollow in the night. She suddenly realized that lonely children all have a world of their own.
"Okay, Grandma, you can go home now and come back to see me tomorrow morning," she said, standing up and slowly walking out. The little girl softly nodded, offering her hand to help her up: "Let me take you home, Grandma, it's late at night..."
The country road was quiet. The chirping of crickets mingled with the gentle sound of falling water. In the countryside, after the rain, the wind would drift endlessly across the vast fields. Walking beside the little girl, she dreamed of returning to her childhood days, sitting on the steps, her feet dangling down, touching the cool, damp moss, listening to the kingfisher returning to the wild fig tree in front of the gate, its clear, melodious song of the peaceful countryside. Beside the little girl, she suddenly felt her heart soften, wanting to lean against that small figure as they walked. From the little girl, a warmth and peace radiated to her. Reaching the gate, the little girl suddenly pulled her hand and pointed upwards: "Grandma, do you see that really bright star up there?" "Ah, yes... I see it." "It's my friend, and nobody knows it!" the little girl whispered excitedly. "Go to sleep, Grandma! I'll come visit you later."
The little girl turned away, but the old woman quickly grasped her hand as if afraid of losing a shining star: "Whenever you want, I'll be here waiting for you to come and stay with me." Tears welled up in the child's eyes and fell...
Short story: VU NGOC GIAO
Source: https://baocantho.com.vn/chieu-o-xom-doc-tinh-a194003.html
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