It was a chilly afternoon, the sky seemed to be covered with a heavy coat of lead. Amidst the hustle and bustle of people and vehicles, a petite woman, holding her daughter by the hand and a bunch of longan in the other, hesitantly stood outside my porch.
“Oh my god, is that Phuc?”, Hai ran to open the gate, stunned. The woman stammered: “I… came to burn incense for you two”. After many years of being married far away, Phuc still remembered the anniversary of my parents’ death.
After my younger sister was born, my mother became thinner and thinner and then died. My father raised my three siblings alone. Exactly ten years after my mother's death anniversary, my father passed away peacefully in his sleep. People said that my parents were so destined to be husband and wife that they promised to reunite when their children grew up. But my second brother was only legally an adult, he was still a 1.8 meter tall guy, with a bewildered face, wiping away tears while preparing for my father's funeral, doing whatever the neighbors told him to do.
Without our parents, we struggled to survive the days without food and clothing. My second brother suddenly became the breadwinner of the family. While preparing for the university entrance exam, he dropped out of school and applied for a job at a small wood workshop.
The work was irregular, and on days when he was “unemployed,” he had to go to the forest to collect bamboo shoots and rattan to sell. The strong eighteen-year-old man, with two rattan rings under his armpits, walked straight out of the forest. Many vines had not yet been stripped of thorns, and were piercing his skin.
After each trip to the forest, he happily spread out his stack of coins to count, then stripped naked, letting Little Ut use a needle to poke at the black, sharp thorns hidden deep in his tanned skin. I pulled out the leeches, full of blood, stubbornly clinging to his calves.
Looking at the bloody and pus-filled wounds, we could understand how harsh life in the forest was. But he laughed heartily and encouraged the children: “No, going to the forest is fun”, as evidenced by the fact that he occasionally brought us a handful of wild berries, bunches of rattan or bags of ripe sim.
At that time, my neighborhood was bustling with many unmarried girls. Knowing that my brother was an orphan with a burden of several younger siblings, I was still fascinated by his muscular and handsome appearance. When I met him on the street, I would either boldly tease him or flirt to test his intentions. But he would just smile and say yes perfunctorily. He was indifferent, probably because he already had Ms. Phuc in his heart.
She used to be in the same class as him. When his father passed away, she saw that he had been absent from school for a long time, so she brought his exercise books over and encouraged him to go back to school. But as soon as she arrived, she saw him coming back from the wood workshop, his hair white with sawdust. He choked up: "Phuc, go home, I'm quitting school."
She had tears in her eyes, probably starting to love him from that time. She often brought him a bottle of balm, medicinal wine that she had secretly poured from her father, gave us a plate of banh bo or some fruit from the garden. Every time he went into the forest, he brought her back a few orchids, shyly stealing glances at her radiant face when he received the simple gift.
She was like happiness in my brother's burdened life. They were as close as doves. Her mother came to my porch several times and said in a harsh voice, "Phuc, go home!" Knowing that her parents did not support her, she still secretly found a way to meet my brother. The task of removing the thorns from his shoulders was handed over to her.
He was shy, slowly took off his shirt, revealing his muscular bare back. Ms. Phuc trembled as she touched the festering thorns. Suddenly, she burst into tears, sobbing and rubbing against his back, placing her soft lips on it as if to soothe the pain and suffering he had to endure. He turned around and hugged her, whispering: "I still have two younger siblings, can you wait for me, Phuc?". She gently nodded...
And then, he had to lose her at the age of twenty-four. Phuc's family fell into debt and forced her to marry a Taiwanese man. Her husband was a man almost the same age as her father, with yellow teeth, his upper jaw protruding from his lips darkened by smoking. She cried until her eyes were swollen, and she was angry with her parents. But when her mother threatened to commit suicide, she quickly agreed.
On the day of her wedding, he deliberately went to the forest, and at noon rushed home, pacing back and forth, scratching his head. Hearing the sound of the wedding procession passing by, he ran out and hid in the porch, watching the wedding car speeding away on the dusty red dirt road. The car disappeared, leaving behind a vast, sad gray sky. That day, while burning incense for his parents, he collapsed on the altar and cried.
Since the day his sister Phuc got married, he often slept in a hammock on the porch, trying to hide from his siblings the fact that he had chronic insomnia. He became thinner, his eyes gradually covered with a thin layer of ash-colored sadness. But the years, whether intentional or not, happy or sad, passed quickly.
Thanks to the money from his wood workshop and bamboo shoots, my youngest child and I gradually went to college, graduated, and stayed in the city, getting married one by one. Every time my younger sibling got married, he would sometimes turn away in silence, both happy and sad, as if missing his first love, full of passion and heartache.
Now, he is almost forty. Men at that age should have the brilliant things in life, career, money, wife and children... But my brother only has freedom - a freedom that no one wishes for. No longer having the burden of his juniors on his shoulders, his shoulders involuntarily droop, his gait is as graceful as a banana leaf. He still goes to the forest every day, just to bring back orchid branches. In contrast to his silent, gloomy owner, his orchid garden is increasingly bustling, with all kinds and colors, indescribably beautiful.
The day Mrs. Phuc visited the house, she seemed a bit surprised by his thinness and rapid aging. She shyly placed the bunch of longan on the altar. He awkwardly made a new pot of tea, poured it into cups for the mother and son, and shakily invited: "Phuc... drink some water."
They sat in silence, not daring to look each other in the eye even though their minds were filled with questions. Occasionally, he would steal a glance at the scar on her forehead. The scar ran from her hairline down to her eyebrow, making her look as if she were frowning.
Her little daughter sat alone playing with the cat under the shade of the orchid trellis. Watching her daughter, she looked up at the orchid branch that was blooming with pure white flowers. Her face was as radiant as when she was in her twenties.
He heard about Ms. Phuc through gossip in the village. They said that her husband had passed away a few years ago. Living with her husband's family was not easy, so she asked to return to Vietnam. Because the child was a girl, her husband's family was not interested and agreed to let her follow her mother. The girl was not fluent in Vietnamese and had to repeat kindergarten.
The village was so small, stories about her were always circulating among the crowds, at the flea market, and in the shops. When the news reached his ears, he felt restless, wanting to find an excuse to go over to see her and her children.
He took a deep breath, went to the garden, picked up the purple orchids that were blooming, and ran away, standing in front of her in a moment. Day by day, the most beautiful orchids took turns being “transferred” to her house. The orchid trellis he had worked hard on gradually became sparse, but his face was as cheerful and happy as the faces of people in love.
That day, he stood very close, trembling as he raised his hand to touch the scar on her forehead - the result of one of the times her husband abused her. She did not tell about the countless other scars that had been hidden, on her back, on her arms, on her chest... even in her mind.
They appeared in nightmares, even when he lay sleeping in his familiar bed back home. He pressed his lips to the scar on her forehead, wanting to soothe the pain that had been there. They sobbed, feeling hot tears welling up in the corners of their eyes.
Tears flowed together, no longer distinguishing which drop belonged to whom, which drop was of pain, which drop was of happiness. In the yard, a few branches of orchids, bare of leaves after a hard winter, were now sparkling with green buds, just waiting for the warm rays of spring to bloom.
And then, spring comes!
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