Stone fountain

In June, the rain poured down, the sky was white, bright lightning tore through the dark clouds, thunder rumbled incessantly. In the late afternoon, the rain stopped, the clouds dispersed, an old friend posted a video on Facebook. There was a big flood, water from the stream overflowed into the fields, contrary to usual. Childhood memories came flooding back. Here is the section of Cay Si, there is the section of Goc Nhoi, here is the Xo Xo abyss, there is Ben Tam,…

Back then, whenever I let myself drift on a small stream during the flood season, I often dreamed of the wide, long rivers that I had seen on a black and white battery-powered television screen, or read somewhere in worn and tattered books and newspapers.

At the age of nine, during the summer vacation, I went to live with my uncle, to help my brother and sister-in-law take care of their children, at his request. My brother and sister-in-law were still struggling to make a living. From then on, my uncle's life story, longer than a river, flowed through me. From then on, besides my mother, the second woman in my life, my uncle, always taught me good things and the right things, influencing my thinking and way of thinking later on.

Source: Internet

At my first meal, my uncle treated me to stir-fried snails. The snails looked strangely long, the snail meat was crispy, delicious, and fragrant. I asked him what kind of snails. He said snails were called "nips". Strange. It was the first time I heard it. He took me to the Ben Tam area. So he called streams "nips". I blurted out and asked him why they weren't "brooks". He mused and said he was used to calling them that, like he used to call them before. From then on, I only remembered "nips". To him, "nips" were very important.

The fountain gives you a continuous, clear flow of water to wash buckets of clothes every noon, and to carry water to water your plants during droughts. The fountain has many stone slabs for you to sit on, and after washing, you can rest. The fountain gives you delicious snails, snails that cling to the rocks, eat the color that clings to the rocks and grows. The fountain gives you fish and shrimp.

Besides taking care of my grandchildren, I don't mind doing chores around the house. Sitting with my uncle picking black beans, bad and flat beans, sitting with my uncle picking peanuts, withered and wrinkled beans, my uncle kept whispering about life stories. My uncle passed away early, when my eldest sister had just gotten married and my youngest brother was only eleven years old. My uncle alone supported the family, got married, took care of eight children and settled them down. My father often said that he loved his sister-in-law very much.

I stayed at my uncle’s house for almost a month before my father came to pick me up. He said he missed me so much, and that he should go home with his parents. No matter how poor our family was, we would never let our children “go away”. I went home. During the first month of living with my uncle, I felt like a family member, and the connection became closer and more frequent later on. Sometimes, compared to my uncle’s grandchildren, I was closer to him than anyone else, and talked to him the most.

Ba said, he loved his eldest sister, her husband worked for the government, she stayed home and farmed, they had different ways of thinking, life was difficult. Ba loved his second brother, who stayed in the city, far from his mother, far from his siblings, and was alone in his career. Ba loved his third brother, whose work was not going anywhere. Ba loved his fourth sister, each husband and wife had their own personality, like the moon and the sun. Ba loved his fifth brother, who was sick and ill. Ba loved… How much could he love? Can love ever be measured?

Years passed by. The first brother died because of a serious illness. The uncle felt more for the deceased than for his daughter-in-law, who was like him. When he saw his youngest sister-in-law calling her husband to pump up her bicycle, the uncle also shed tears. She had a husband to share with, even the smallest things, while his fifth daughter-in-law was raising two small children alone, completely independent.

I went to school, went to work, got married, had children, and I was absorbed in the flow of life. Every year I tried to visit my uncle at least twice. Once during Tet, the other time was usually after my father's death anniversary, right in the middle of summer. Whenever I first arrived, my uncle would ask, how long have you been home, how are your parents-in-law, are they well? And the conversation just kept going on, like a winding stream, flowing downstream, and it was hard to stop.

Neither my uncle nor I wanted to stop the unfinished story. Before leaving, my uncle always held my hand tightly and gave me very careful instructions. Remember, when you return to your husband's family, please send my regards to your husband's parents.

Then the seventh brother died of cancer, when he was very young. Ba's love, literally "divided into five, split into seven", for the fifth sister-in-law and the seventh sister-in-law. The youngest brother also died suddenly not long after, because of a cold. Ba did not cry. Ba said, "The yellow leaves, sitting and looking at the green leaves falling from the previous branches, this pain, I don't know how to describe it properly, my dear." Ba lightly punched his chest. Then he looked far away at the vast sky in front of the door. The pain had not yet subsided when the second brother passed away, just as suddenly as the youngest brother. Ba's tears sank inside.

Life has changed, and the stream has also changed somewhat. The Banyan tree has long been cut down. At Ben Tam and Goc Nhoi, there used to be a wooden bridge with a single trunk, about the size of a water bucket, connecting the two banks of the small stream. Now, the wooden bridge has been replaced by two sturdy concrete bridges with railings, built with the State's investment.

The stream still flows windingly, dividing Dong Ma field with Lan Chieu field, near the limestone mountains. The rocks of the stream are still silver-gray and mossy. People come. People stay. People go. Only Ba is left with the small house on the hill with his youngest sister-in-law. Housework, gardening, Ba tries to touch, to not rest, but every day there are still hours, many hours, Ba sits aimlessly. Ba still holds my hand tightly every time I come home, still whispering many stories of life.

I have fulfilled my childhood dream, coming to many big and small rivers. The Red River, the Thai Binh River, red with alluvium. The Duong River, “a sparkling stream”. The Bach Dang River, marking the ancient feat. The Ky Cung River flows in reverse. The Bang Giang River is gentle. The Nho Que River is calm. The Lo River – a legendary river. The Da River with clear blue water. The majestic Ma River. The poetic Huong River. The Thach Han River carrying the soul of the nation. The gentle Son River. The noisy Serepok River, … But I only remember longingly about my stream and my lake.

Late Autumn, I visited my uncle, returned to the old stream, the water had receded, the water flowed gently, the rocks emerged, standing tall with the years, like my uncle's ninety-five years. My uncle was still surprisingly lucid, not forgetting each old person, remembering each young person, eight children, even though half of them had left him and gone to nothingness, the same number of sons-in-law, daughters-in-law, eighteen grandchildren, not to mention grandchildren-in-law, grandchildren-in-law, twenty-six great-grandchildren, an extraordinary memory.

To me, Ba is like a rock, Ba is a rock, a fountain rock. Rock has gone through many flood seasons, still steadfast, steadfast. Ba has gone through many bitter seasons, still calm, before the storms of life.

Source: https://baothainguyen.vn/van-nghe-thai-nguyen/sang-tac-van-hoc/202507/da-ngoi-45e0e23/