The bell hung dangling from the front of the car.

Việt Nam•25/05/2024

It had been a long time since I last heard that bell. Amidst the rustling morning breeze, the humble sound of the small bell was barely audible, requiring a keen ear to hear. The bell awakened childhood memories deeply rooted in a small corner of my soul.

The taffy candy evokes childhood memories for many people - Photo: HCD

Back then, we used to gather on the village road to play children's games. Suddenly, the tinkling of a brass bell would ring out, and a rickety old bicycle would leisurely approach. The children's eyes would widen with longing as the cyclist called out, "Candy for sale!"

The candy seller's name was Thoi, and we usually called him "Uncle Thoi the Candy Seller." He was around thirty years old, and we heard that his family was struggling because he had so many children. He was tall and lanky, with a gaunt, bony face that never seemed to smile; he looked quite frightening at first glance. Any child who cried would be threatened by their mothers and grandmothers with "sell them to Uncle Thoi the candy seller," and they would stop crying immediately. But once they tasted the candy, the children all grew fond of Uncle Thoi. Sometimes, he would stop his cart, send one of the children into the house to pour him a cup of tea, and then he would give them a piece of candy.

The old man's bicycle was worn, rusty, and its paint had peeled off. A small, dumpling-shaped bell hung from the handlebars. As the bike bounced along the bumpy, pothole-strewn village roads, the bell jingled and the old man's voice rang out, "Candy for sale!" It sounded so familiar that sometimes he didn't even need to shout; the mere jingling of the bell was enough for children to know he was selling candy from afar.

Behind the motorbike, on the luggage rack, was a wooden box containing a large, white candy-like substance, wrapped in a glossy plastic bag and a thick layer of felt to protect it from the sun. It was a thick, sticky syrup, made from finely ground sugar, a process that required skill to produce. Stopping the motorbike, the man used a cloth wrapped around his right hand to pull out a piece of the candy. Then, unexpectedly, he broke off the piece, wrapping it in a piece of newspaper to prevent it from sticking to his hand.

We enjoyed watching Uncle Thoi pull the candy, sometimes even without money to buy it, we would still crowd around to watch. His hands were nimble, pulling and stroking at the same time. When he shook the candy stick to separate it from the sugar lump, he would flick his tongue inside his mouth, making a crisp cracking sound, like something breaking. In my childhood world , the candy vendor was like a magician. With just a little stroking, the white sugar lump would encase the shelled roasted peanuts.

Children love taffy candy; the sweet, chewy texture and the crunchy, nutty peanuts are a comforting treat for a childhood marked by scarcity and a constant craving for sweets. Made purely from sugar and peanuts, taffy is very safe for children's teeth and gums. It contains no preservatives, and since there were no refrigerators back then, the vendor would look dejected if he hadn't sold it all by late afternoon.

Eating taffy candy requires speed because if you leave it too long, it melts and sticks to your hands, so you have to chew it voraciously, even if it gets stuck in your teeth. Eating taffy candy has given rise to an idiom: anyone who speaks sweetly is often teased with the saying, "Your mouth is as smooth as taffy candy."

Back then, a stick of taffy only cost a few hundred dong, but sometimes children could still get taffy without needing money. This was thanks to the cheerful and generous candy vendor who could exchange discarded items for candy. Children could simply collect empty bottles, cans, worn-out plastic sandals, rusty iron bars, or duck feathers to exchange for taffy. That way, we could have a treat without money. It seems that these small acts instilled in the country children a sense of diligence and thriftiness.

Children now have more and more snacks to choose from; candy and pastries are now readily available, so the sight of bicycles carrying pulled candy for sale has become less common and has disappeared completely from the village roads. Uncle Thoi is now old and no longer sells candy door-to-door. I still fondly remember his words, "This job involves wandering around in the sun and rain, it's very hard."

But unexpectedly, this morning I heard the sound of memories again, and saw the bell hanging from the handlebars of an old bicycle carrying taffy candy for sale. I thought children nowadays wouldn't crave that kind of candy anymore. But from the alleyway near my house, a child ran out, shouting, "Uncle! Uncle selling taffy candy!" The candy seller hurriedly slammed on the brakes, as if afraid of losing something—not just a candy sale, but something more.

Hoang Cong Danh

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