New Friends and 17 Mango Trees

The hilly land was reclaimed and settled before my brother and I were born. My brother told me that his grandparents were the pioneers in reclaiming the forest and expanding agricultural land. My family lived in the city and changed their residence, joining the hilly and garden community. The move to earn a living opened the door for me to a wide knowledge of agricultural life.

Illustration: Ly Long

My mother's voice echoed off the hill, echoing out to the stream, the echoes sounding like rolling waves: "Phuong, oh... oi! Phuong, oh... oi!". I answered: "Yes...!". I walked quickly back to the exact spot where I put my feet in the dry stream. On the bank were still the imprints of my sandals. The stream had two banks of green bamboo. In the morning, flocks of birds sang loudly. Starlings tilted their heads, hopping around in front of the porch. It seemed that the starling recognized me as a newcomer, eagerly doing kangaroo hops to get acquainted, friendly welcoming me. I waved goodbye to the starling. Starlings were close to humans, raising their pretty beaks and chirping... going somewhere... going somewhere...

That summer taught me many interesting things about the birds and insects that lived in the garden. The cicadas’ vocals made the strongest impression. The “invisible” singers, without the need for amplifiers, still sang in high, high-pitched voices, ve… ve… ve… ve… ve… ve…! Luckily, there was a break in between. I was afraid that if the cicadas sang like that, their throats would burst and I would have to call a doctor.

On the mango branches, the cheerful greetings of the sparrows mixed with the sounds of the cygnets imitating the canaries were like a harmonious orchestral arrangement that I had heard before. I was fascinated by the pair of tiny woodpeckers hopping from branch to branch like two faithful “jackfruit seeds”, always in pairs. On the soft green grass, the pair of cuckoos happily loved each other, rubbing their wings, touching their beaks, content, quivering their feathers. The third cuckoo “guy” who wanted to join in to tease me was left out. Phuong opened her eyes wide, her face bright, looking interested in listening to me tell stories about the garden. Actually, she knew interesting stories. For example, the origin of the 17 mango trees.

My parents decided to leave their cramped apartment in the city. The crowded air shared the suffocating atmosphere. Motorcycle exhaust poured into the vents, forming black patches on the windowsills. The steel mill kicked up metal dust that flew into the gray front door. Everyone’s nostrils were heavy and stuffy all year round. My father did everything he could to block the smoke and dust: he planted trees, built a trellis, and installed an air purifier. But then, everyone in my family suffered from nose and throat problems.

The small road turned up the hill. My father drove the Honda slowly. I sat in the back, straining my eyes to observe and record the passing scenery. The emerald green grass along the roadside spread out to the foot of the hill. The dragon fruit gardens continued one after another. Sometimes there were jackfruit and mango gardens interspersed. My father stopped the car: "We're here, son, it's almost a kilometer from the national highway." I opened the gate, eagerly stepping into the new house with a shady garden of mango, jackfruit, and banana trees. The soft grass path soothed my footsteps. A small stream meandered around the garden hill. The sound of water flowing over the rocks was gurgling. The early wind caressed the bamboo leaves. The scenery was quiet and peaceful like a beautiful natural painting.

I studied well enough to pass the class. My parents did not force me. I studied according to my ability. At the end of the year, I saw that my report card had a wrong number, causing my name to be out of the top 5. A random girl was listed. I told myself: "I'm a boy, what's the big deal? Just a little sad!" The class monitor asked all of us to add up our report cards. I said no, I'm fine! I didn't want her to be sad. If she was happy, I was happy. My friends praised me for being humble. My heart was filled with joy.

I counted 17 majestic mango trees like towers stretching their canopies across the blue sky. The mango trees lined up on the west side of my family's house. The mango branches and leaves were lush. The pure white mango flowers with fragrant pistils attracted the buzzing honeybees. The mango fruits hung heavily on the branches. I stretched my chest to breathe in the wind traveling from the South, blowing across the garden hills, caressing the mango leaves, with a soft, gentle melody. I wondered what the previous owner of this garden had to do with the number 17, I guessed what it meant, it must not have been accidental. My parents looked at me in surprise and smiled to themselves. I thought about the summer after I started 7th grade. The report card incident caused me to drop to 7th place. Numbers were always present in my mind. The digital age. Events were encoded into numbers. My new friend and I were also numbers. I was a number that could smile to itself.

The urge to plan garden work. Dad takes care of mango, jackfruit, banana trees, pruning, fertilizing. Mom takes care of chickens, ducks, and clears weeds around the house. The house is built with a corrugated iron roof and has a trough to collect rainwater into a barrel. I am determined to grow mustard greens and water spinach for the whole family to eat. I follow the instructions in the book, drive in bamboo stakes, stretch the rope, hoe and mound the soil, mix organic fertilizer, sow mustard green seeds and green mustard green seeds. The mustard green seeds are angular and triangular. The mustard green seeds are round. I carry a watering can with a shower nozzle to water the soil so that the seeds germinate quickly. I smile and nod. Each seed, each vegetable. Sharp-leafed mustard greens. Round-leafed mustard greens. Three weeks later, Mom picked stir-fried mustard greens with garlic, mustard greens to cook shrimp soup. My parents praised me for being so good, making me very happy.

My father and I trimmed dry branches, dried banana leaves, and raked up trash. The garden was airy, and I saw a small house on the other side of the hibiscus fence. My pretty little sister, one leg in a white bandage, sat in a wheelchair and called out to me: "Hey, brother, help me!". I pushed the fence aside and stepped over. The wheelchair's wheels sank into the soft ground due to the rain last night. I grabbed the wheel and pulled it a few times to get out of the sinkhole. "Thank you!". "What happened to my leg?". "It was my fault, I accidentally cut my leg on a steel plate while playing with my friends at the construction site.". "Is the wound deep?". "The doctor stitched it up with 7 stitches." "Everyone has been careless. Are you home alone?". "My parents have a dragon fruit garden on the hill. Please sit down and talk." I went home to get some ripe mangoes. The mangoes were plump and round. "This is for you. I'm Phuong, 12 years old, in 7th grade." “Thank you. I’m Phuong, the same age as you, also in 7th grade.” The two new friends happily got to know each other. Phuong had a ponytail tied with a green rubber band, big round black eyes, a full forehead, and a pretty cleft chin.

I looked around and noticed something familiar. The garden space was peaceful and cool. The scent of flowers wafted. The green of the trees. Phuong looked at me with sparkling eyes and smiled. She peeled the mango, the fresh, sweet, yellow mango, and we ate it deliciously. I saw a medical box with a red cross printed on it on the table. "Did you change the bandage yourself?". "Yes". "Let me help you". "Yes". I moved the chair closer, gently lifted her leg up. I removed the bandage, pumped in hydrogen peroxide to clean the wound, put a new piece of gauze on it, and practiced the exact movements I had learned in class. "Does it hurt?". Phuong's cheeks were red and shy. She smiled, showing her pearly white teeth. "Yes, I don't feel any pain". Every day, I volunteered to go to her house to change her bandage, to be her protector. I felt myself growing up and becoming more mature. One day, she and I were happy to see the new pink skin healing the wound. Her parents were affectionate and cherished our new friendship. I held her hand and led her for a walk in the garden, sitting together on the green grass to admire the scenery of the hills and garden.

She told the story: “Tuan is my uncle. When he was seventeen, he decided to go to the West to the nursery to buy 17 Hoa Loc mango trees and plant them himself according to the instructions in the book…”. I couldn’t help but blurt out: “The book Fruit Tree Growing Methods by Professor Ton That Trinh, right?”. “That’s right. How did you know?”.

That afternoon, I hung a hammock under the mango tree, looked up and saw something sparkling in the sunlight. Curious, I climbed up to the fork of the tree and saw a plastic bag with a book in it. I took it down and opened it to read. I imagined a strong young man with knowledge and a love for gardening. The fork of the mango tree was where he sat reading. He had been present in this house and garden. The book contained valuable knowledge for planting trees, attracting me to read it passionately.

“May I ask if your uncle Tuan is married and where he is now?”. “Yes, uncle Tuan was accepted to Canberra University in Australia. My grandparents sold that garden plot to get money for uncle Tuan to study abroad. Now he is married and is an agricultural engineer working in the city.” My sister and I admired the flower and landscape designs created by uncle Tuan’s talented hands and love for trees. The rectangular lawn was bordered by a hedge of hibiscus flowers trimmed at right angles to create a healthy shape. The porch was bordered by bright string of pearls. On the garden lawn, mango, jackfruit, and custard apple trees spread their branches and canopies. The souls of the two friends were cheerful, optimistic, and full of life.

My parents were happy and agreed to celebrate my birthday by inviting Phuong to a party with cake and milk tea. That day, there was a special guest who unexpectedly showed up to congratulate my friendship with her - the handsome and dashing Tuan from the city came back to visit the old garden full of memories. Tuan held our hands and walked under the shade of the garden, telling stories about his love for green trees, trees that give life sweet fruits. I will definitely plant 12 more mango trees in a row on the east side of the garden. I dug a hole and spread fertilizer. She put the seedlings down. Faith, love, and hope.

Source: https://baobinhthuan.com.vn/doi-ban-moi-va-17-cay-xoai-124376.html