The Last Train at Nhi Ha Station - Short story by Vu Ngoc Giao

Occasionally a gust of wind would blow past, shaking the water-soaked branches. On the other side of the fence, where freight trains still passed several times a day, an old man was huddled in a worn coat, his woolen scarf also faded, only the shiny black shoes on his feet looked like new. He sat on a stool that must have been left by some street vendor, his face looking down, half-closed as if he were sleeping, occasionally the sound of a train whistle would startle him, his bewildered look on a late winter day reminded people of the loneliness of someone waiting in vain. From afar she caught a glimpse of his figure, at first glance his silent sitting posture and patiently looking down at the deserted platform caught her attention.

The Last Train at Nhi Ha Station - Short story by Vu Ngoc Giao - Photo 1.

ILLUSTRATION: Tuan Anh

The station was not far from the road, so every time the shrill whistle blew, accompanied by the rumbling of the iron wheels on the dry rails, the loose windows would vibrate. As usual, passenger trains did not stop at the station, this remote platform was only home to market trains. The train disappeared, leaving the sky empty, and everything fell silent. When the market train entered the station, only a few passengers got off, and their presence did not add any more excitement to this desolate platform.

She put on her earphones, absentmindedly looking around but in fact her eyes were still drawn to the old man. He stood up and slowly walked around, the sound of his cane gently tapping on the ground but the clacking sound was very clear. From the other side of the sand dunes, a slow train was approaching, puffing out tired breaths. Behind the shimmering glass windows, luxurious suitcases were piled next to red and green travel bags, indifferent faces on the cushioned seats watched everything recede into the distance. The train was far away, the old man came to the chair and fumbled to sit down, his face with a thoughtful look as if he was looking for something he had dropped on the ground, occasionally he lifted his cane up and tapped it then held it between his legs. Next to him was no luggage except for the shiny black cane that was carved quite carefully on the armrest. She took off her earphones and walked towards him to start a conversation. "What train are you waiting for?"

The old man looked up, looking carefully to see if the person who asked him was a familiar person or a stranger, his eyes seemed to be covered with mist. "I... I'm waiting for the last bus" - the old man replied, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to cover his mouth and cough.

She absentmindedly looked at the sparse grass trying to emerge from the gravel tracks, giving up on asking any more questions. The wind in the winter afternoon occasionally blew through the barren land of burnt grass stalks. Next to her, the old man closed his eyes as if he was sleeping, but she could still see the pale sadness in his lonely, huddled appearance, it reminded her of the melancholy, immense, yet poignant classical music. Suddenly the old man turned to ask, "Are you waiting for the train too?". "Yes!".

As soon as she finished speaking, the train whistle blew a long time from the other side of the barrier, signaling that the station was about to enter. She greeted the old man and quickly jumped into the last car. The old man was absent-minded for a moment, then stood up, waving his cane, and hurriedly got on the train, choosing an empty bench to sit down quietly. The heavy train began to move. At this time, he had taken off his scarf and covered his head to keep warm, while he still held his cane tightly between his legs. She stood up and walked toward him, peeled the tangerine and split it in half, offering it to him. "Please eat a tangerine segment to quench your thirst!"

The old man took the tangerine segments and ate them slowly. The wind from outside blew through the window, causing the silver hair on his forehead to fall loosely under his hood. The winter cold seeped into the compartment, causing her to hunch her shoulders and close her shirt. Suddenly, the old man asked softly, "Where are you getting off?". "I'm getting off at Nhi Ha station. What about you?". "I... am also getting off at Nhi Ha station." "Are you going to visit your children?".

The old man silently looked out at the vast sand dunes, his eyes wandering as if there was no place to anchor. The train shook slightly as it passed the cemetery, dotted with cold graves. On the opposite bench, a few passengers were dozing, occasionally coughing because of the sudden shudder of the train. She continued to silently watch the old man, her heart suddenly sinking with a strange feeling. The train pulled into the station, blew a long whistle, and stopped in front of a desolate platform. People got off one by one. She came to the old man and whispered, "Let me help you!"

The old man understood and raised his hand to stop her, nodded slightly in thanks, then carefully stepped down and walked towards the station door. She stood still and watched until the thin figure disappeared.

* * *

A winter passes quietly…

On her hurried return trips, she sometimes caught sight of the old man's silhouette as the market trains entered and exited. He slowly walked towards the door of the train car, his tall and thin figure seemingly lost in the middle of the platform. She easily recognized him thanks to his familiar coat and scarf. In a flash, his silhouette blurred and disappeared into the bustling crowd. Still sitting silently, clutching the stick between his legs, but it was more than a year later that she had the chance to sit next to him. He sat there on the long bench, his head bowed as if falling asleep under the weak yellow light. She silently watched his lonely figure in the middle of the stuffy, swaying iron train, constantly roaring as it passed through the fog.

The train pulled into the station. Passengers got off one by one. The old man was still nodding off on the bench. When the train staff approached and called him softly, he woke up and stood up shakily. He still had no luggage except for his walking stick, which had been worn by time. He slowly walked towards the station door. Outside, a few motorbike taxi drivers rushed over to offer him a ride. The old man waved his hand to signal his refusal, and slowly walked to the other side of the road, which led to the iron bridge over the river. A few drops of rain were sprinkled above, the late winter rains, not heavy but enough to chill the skin. Unable to contain her curiosity, she quietly followed him, keeping a reasonable distance.

The scent of five-color flowers wafted up from the roadside, a strong scent that spread across a windy stretch of field. When the old man reached the bridge, he stopped and looked down at the river as if searching for something he had lost. His old appearance in the late afternoon further emphasized his loneliness as if it had always been his default. The howling winter wind blew, cutting through the chill. After hesitating for a long time, she decided to walk towards him. The iron plates underneath shook violently, causing him to turn around. "Do you still remember me?", she inclined her head and greeted him with a friendly smile.

The old man stood still, his smoky eyes under his silver eyebrows furrowed, looking intently at her as if trying to remember where he had seen her before but couldn't seem to remember.

"Last year, I waited for the train with you..." - she reminded him softly. He raised his hand and gently patted his forehead, exclaiming: "Ah... I remember now, you peeled me a tangerine...". "I was also on the train with you just now". "Are you from this area?". "Yes! I live on the other side of the river, after this bridge you will see a long dirt road, my house is in Nhi Ha village". "Oh!", the old man exclaimed with interest, her words seemed to have made him pay more attention.

The afternoon was clear, but the clouds were gathering, making the sky seem to droop. The old man still couldn't take his eyes off the river, his hand shaking as he hugged his stick, looking emotional. "Where are you going now, so I can take you home? It's windy on the bridge!". "I... I'm not going anywhere. I have no place to go here." "What do you mean? Didn't you come back here to visit your children and grandchildren?". The old man shook his head, his distant eyes looking down at the river.

She looked at her watch, it was already six o'clock in the evening. Winter nights seemed longer. At this hour, her mother was probably anxiously waiting outside. Looking at the old man's lonely figure carved into the late afternoon and his forlorn eyes, she could not turn away. There was something holding her like a sharing... On the distant river surface, a cuckoo bird hovered then suddenly swooped down to the riverbed and disappeared, emerged with a small fish in its beak, flew up to a dry branch and stood there pecking at the prey. She looked over discreetly, the old man's eyes were on the bird but his mind seemed to be elsewhere...

"When I was young, there was a time when I lived here..." - the old man suddenly spoke in a low voice as if he was talking to himself. She quietly listened to every word he said: "That day, you met your lover here, right?". The old man laughed, the corners of his eyes squinting humorously. For a moment, she suddenly realized that in that lonely appearance, there was once a cheerful and gallant young man. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead, which was dripping with sweat despite the cold afternoon air.

"That day I was assigned to work here, every day I had to cross this river by boat because there was no bridge..." - the old man stopped there, and then murmured again. "There was only one boat on this river, the boatman that day was a young girl... We got to know each other, then fell in love, love came so naturally and beautifully! That year the girl was nineteen years old, and I was twenty-three, the age when I could get married. When my parents heard me tell them the story, they strongly objected because they thought that she and I were not compatible in terms of status, and that it would be difficult to get along. She knew about it so she avoided me, but I was still determined to convince my parents... Until one time...", the old man stopped here, took a towel to wipe his temples, looking emotional. "That day, the flood rolled down the river, sweeping away a lot of wood, buffaloes, cows... from the neighboring houses. I was young and active at that time, I could not stand by and watch the people's property being swept away by the flood... I and a few friends who were very good swimmers rushed out to help the people. After more than three hours of being soaked in the flood water, I was exhausted, I intended to swim in but at that moment a big flood from upstream rushed in and swept me and two friends away. Struggling in the whirlpool, I calmly tried to swim in but the more I tried, the deeper I sank. In the moment of despair, when I thought I was only a thin line away from death, a hand grabbed my hand and pulled me up. In the midst of my life-threatening situation, I realized she was supporting me... I was brought to shore and then passed out... When I woke up, I found myself lying in the infirmary, with no one around...".

The old man stopped talking, his face showing extreme emotion. "When I got home, everyone looked at me with eyes full of sympathy. My intuition told me that I ran to the new house and found out that she had been swept away by the flood after bringing me to shore...". "At that time, no one could save her?", she cried out in shock. The old man shook his head. "No one was there. My two friends were also swept away by the flood." At that point, the old man hugged his chest and fell silent. After a while, he whispered: "Two years later, I returned to the city to work. I couldn't love anyone until I met my wife and got married." "Have you ever told her about the past?"

The old man nodded. "Every year on that day, my wife and I bring a branch of white lilies here and release it into this river. My wife gave me a peaceful life, but she has been gone for more than ten years... As for me... once a month, I come back here, stand on this river... to remember a time...". "And you are still sad?", she asked softly. "There are beautiful sorrows that people cannot easily let go of, carrying them in their hearts is also a way to heal", the old man whispered.

She silently watched the river dyed purple by the sunset. The cold wind of the winter afternoon blew, sounding like the sound of time slowly carving into her heart. Beside her, the old man's voice was still murmuring. "Once during my afternoon nap, I saw her come back and sit beside me, gently shaking me: It's afternoon, wake up! I woke up and saw that the afternoon had ended, and I burst into tears. She loved me even in my dreams..."

Night fell, the stars in the sky shone down on the river, creating a pool of silver light, a lone bird returning late from foraging for food made a rustling sound. In the twilight of the last day of winter, she heard the sound of memories of a time gone by echoing from the river. In her ears, the old man's voice was still murmuring. "On the same night, she and I held hands and ran along the riverbank...", he said that, then put the handkerchief in his pocket and turned to her. "It's time for me to leave in time for the last market train."

"Goodbye, sir!", she bent down to help him button his coat. "Let me walk with you for a while." "I can walk by myself, it's okay!", the old man smiled gently: "Have you forgotten that I often come here, I know the way, and even the market trains? At a quarter to eight in the evening, it will be the last market train at Nhi Ha station."

The old man turned away, his back blending into the twilight. Below, a few purple water hyacinths were absorbing the darkness. She wondered if the water hyacinths were floating downstream or were they still stuck somewhere in the middle of an old river?

Source: https://thanhnien.vn/chuyen-tau-cuoi-tren-ga-nhi-ha-truyen-ngan-cua-vu-ngoc-giao-185250308191550843.htm