Purple twilight at Chien Wharf

The little boy stirred slightly, raising his large, deep hazel eyes to gaze intently at the old man with soaking wet hair lying beside him, gasping for breath with difficulty. The old man's eyes were half-closed, but his chest heaved as if swallowing back a simmering resentment. He struggled to sit up, looking at the murky water flowing endlessly outside, then slowly lay back down, trying to remember why he was here, beside Old Man Le, the grumpiest and most hot-tempered boatman in this village of Le. The wind carried the pungent, fishy smell of the river, and the afternoon sun cast a thin veil of light on the water's surface, so light that he imagined the river to be nothing more than a thin layer of smoke, an illusion hovering between reality and illusion.

Illustration: MINH SON

Since the day he started going with the village men to quarry stone, he rarely returned to the village. Each time he came back, his heart would witness his mother's pathetic state under his stepfather's beatings after heavy drinking sessions with the village men. The dark corner of the kitchen, where his mother sat clutching her head in pain, haunted him more than anything else in the world. It had been a long time since he had been able to immerse himself in the river, a place he once considered his mother's gentle embrace, protecting him whenever he was sad, because the river was wide and he was so small. The river water was so clear that he could see the individual strands of waterweed swaying in the current.

Suddenly, it wished that it and its mother could transform into fish so they could forever remain in this vast and profound world . It thrashed its legs, propelling itself towards the graceful seaweed branch that resembled an underwater castle, but unexpectedly, its legs went numb, its body felt heavy as if weighed down by stones, dragging it down to the bottom. It could no longer thrash about. All it could hear were the faint sounds of small fish swimming around. Its vision blurred. It neither struggled nor let itself drift. It simply hovered between two worlds: one world with its mother, its stepfather, its siblings, and its mother's sorrowful cries; the other a tranquil, boundless, gentle body of water, so serene that it wished it could sleep peacefully forever.

Water automatically surged down its throat, filling its stomach to the brim. Its large, beautiful black eyes, inherited from its cheeks, slowly closed, like a door slowly shutting between two worlds… In a semi-conscious state, it felt itself gradually dissolving into a realm devoid of pain. Suddenly, a tearing sound of water, a frantic, rushing splashing, echoed in its ears. A rough hand lifted it up forcefully and decisively. In that instant, its entire world tilted and then went dark. Only then did it truly lose consciousness…

“Are you awake?” A hoarse voice, as if from another world, echoed. The old man lay still, his cloudy eyes, streaked with red blood vessels, half-open to look at her, his wrinkled, listless face filled with sorrow. He coughed hoarsely, the sound mingling with the dry, raspy lapping of water against the shore. Besides that, there was no other sound on this sandy beach. “Did you save me?” she whispered, her voice choked with a bitter coldness.

The old man's gaze lingered on her face for a long time. His dull eyes seemed to pierce through her skin, reaching the most vulnerable spot in her heart. Very gently, his rough, sinewy hands trembled as he touched her hair, a rare tender caress. Outside, the Yen River seemed to rush away, the sounds of wind, water, and sand simultaneously echoing as if trying to drown out the old man's soft sobs. Suddenly, she heard someone calling her name, like her mother's voice echoing from across the river. She snapped back to reality as the air around her gradually cooled in the twilight. "Come home, Xung!" the old man suddenly said.

She stared at him, thinking he was old and forgetful, yet he still remembered her name, even though she only came to Chiền wharf to fish once in a blue moon. She stood up like a robot, silently following him towards the solitary house perched on the sandbar at the end of the beach, where once the ferry crossings used to stop. The dilapidated house stood there, seemingly forgotten after the new bridge was built across the river, and now, on the site of the old tea stall, a new, spacious school had sprung up. Memories now lingered only in the children's shouts and cries each afternoon after school. The children's innocent shouts echoed, unaware that across the deserted stretch of river, an old man sat silently like a shadow, a witness to a bygone era.

"It must be so lonely being alone like this, Grandpa," Xung asked as his grandfather set out the meal on the tray and motioned for him to sit down and eat.

"I'm used to it now, the only thing that makes me sad is that my hands can't hold the oar to paddle the boat anymore, my child!" the old man whispered.

That night, Xung slept in the desolate house, with only the sound of the wind and the flickering light of the oil lamp. Early in the morning, old Le hobbled to the chicken coop, gathered a few eggs, wrapped them in straw, and pressed them into his hand. "Go home, son, it would be a terrible sin for me to keep searching! Take these eggs home, boil them for your younger sibling to eat, and then someday, when you come over, we'll take a boat across to the other side to ease your longing."

He was finally back. That night, the old man sat alone by the fire, awake until dawn. Just yesterday he was a strong, healthy young man, but now his skin was dry like a snake's, layers of scales peeling off, and his once sharp eyes were now dull and cloudy, furrowed with deep, crisscrossing lines. The starfruit tree behind the house would only drop a few ripe fruits at night. He was old now; even the sound of the trees dropping in the night startled him awake. He got up and went out onto the porch. At dawn, he leaned on his cane and strolled around leisurely.

The fields in front of his house were no longer as vast as they once were, bustling with people by the riverbank. Every corner was now filled in and leveled, making the road rough, the canals crisscrossing, and the ponds and swamps constantly being dug up... like a patched-up garment. His eyes could no longer see far into the distance, but he could still sense the wisps of smoke rising from the kitchen fires and the fragrant aroma of fish stewed with turmeric emanating from someone's wood-burning stove. The golden straw carpet under the warm sun gave off the scent of the countryside during harvest season. He inhaled deeply, captivated by the familiar, distinctive fragrance that permeated the village road, his dim eyes straining to see the drying yards.

The rice grains were a rich golden color. The corn was also a rich golden color under his unsteady feet. A poignant feeling welled up, as if everything present on this hillside belonged to him. Everything was his. From the Yên River flowing endlessly beyond, to the vast fields of white cotton, the rice paddies with their stubble remaining year-round, fragrant with the smell of earth, the winding little roads, the tobacco drying sheds, the melon watchtowers, the duck-keeping huts… The rapeseed flowers along the riverbank always blazed with a vibrant, poignant yellow…

Behind the flimsy bamboo gate, the sounds of a young mother calling her child, the creaking of a hammock, and lullabies drifted out… sounds lost in a pool of sadness, lingering there along with the sound of waves from the river. In the old days, my mother also sang lullabies to my grandfather, sad songs, songs bidding farewell to her husband going far away… Following the vast fields stretching endlessly, a lush green of vegetables, of the village nestled amidst the bustling rice paddies, of the river gurgling with delta silt. The riverbanks eroded with the years. The riverbank changed, but people's hearts clung to life until the very end. The further away the riverbanks, the more winding they became. Only the river remained the same, still murmuring softly.

He followed the gently sloping riverbank towards the setting sun until the shimmering water faded into the distance. Only then did he realize the evening was drawing to a close; behind the soft clouds, a crescent moon was peeking out, its light and shadow shimmering in the twilight. A duck called out to its mate on the bank, and immediately a reply came from the other side. The two ducks continued their calls, their cries echoing across the deserted riverbanks, etched into the fading twilight.

The evening turned into night so quickly! Across the river, thick, white mist drifted lazily like smoke, mingling with the water vapor. He cautiously stepped into the boat, pulled out a small bottle of rice wine sealed with a dried banana leaf, gulped it down, and, staggering, paddled the boat out into the middle of the river, letting it drift downstream.

Night. The wind blew harder, and the moon seemed colder, moaning more and more over the desolate river. Here, he could only hear the vast expanse of wind from the distant sea, the wind stirring up waves, pushing the raindrops mixed in with the rustling grass like the shadow of his wife before she left. Many nights he sat here, restlessly gazing at the river heavy with sorrow, sorrow even when the dock was bustling with ferries. The river, like human fate, flowed calmly as it had for generations, but once it passed, its traces were gone forever.

Like a madman, he lunged forward, frantically swinging the oar. With years of experience rowing, he knew the shallow and deep spots on this stretch of river, knowing when it was safe to leave the dock by observing the floodwaters. A jet-black fish darted out of the net and ploped into the riverbed. The sky was full of stars. Each star a fragment of memory. The entire universe seemed to unfold before his eyes, leaving only himself and the receding tide silently pushing the boat downstream…

As evening fell, as if guided by instinct, Xung ran across the fields to old Le's house. The house was deserted, the stove beside the pot of rice cold and lifeless, as if it hadn't been lit for a very long time. Xung rushed to Chien Wharf. On the other side, a small boat drifted slowly downstream, carrying the shadow of an old man in a brown robe, his eyes fixed intently on the river.

Suddenly, Xung burst into tears…

Short stories by Vu Ngoc Giao

Source: https://baobariavungtau.com.vn/van-hoa-nghe-thuat/202506/chieu-tim-ben-chien-1044622/