Zero-cost fair

The late May sun bathed the riverside hamlet in a golden glow. Under the shade of an old vối tree, groups of children played together.

While Bao was using a bamboo leaf to make a boat and floating it down the pond, Tin was chattering away:

- Bao, how many days are left until our special day?

"What day is it?" Bao looked up and asked.

- It's Children's Day! Mom said that kids get gifts on that day. Will I get a water gun as a gift this year, brother?

Hearing Tin's words, Bao was dumbfounded. This year there was a drought, and many of the rice grains were shriveled. Gifts? Perhaps the adults had completely forgotten about them, or didn't dare think about them. Looking at Tin's wide, expectant eyes, Bao suddenly felt a tightness in his chest. He jumped up, brushed off the dust from his hands:

- There are no water guns, but I'll take you to a secret fair! Deal?

"What kind of fair is it, brother?" Tin asked curiously.

"We'll see then," Bao said, winking mysteriously.

Bao's idea quickly convinced Mien and Dung "Kinh" to join. This June, Mien will turn 10. She's as timid as a rabbit, but very skillful with her hands. With just a twig or a leaf, she can turn it into a toy that everyone loves. As for Dung "Kinh," he lives up to his nickname given by the neighborhood kids. He's as strong as a baby buffalo, his hair always standing on end, and his grin stretches from ear to ear.

The only rule of the "Zero-Cost Fair" was boldly declared by Bao:

- No one is allowed to ask their parents for money. We'll make our own gifts from things we find around the neighborhood.

And so, the toy-making workshop on Bao's porch officially began operating. Dung "Kinh" was responsible for collecting the dried banana peels, stripped from the trunks of wild banana trees. Mien brought a small wooden box full of washed and dried longan and lychee seeds, along with a bundle of scraps of cloth.

"Oh my goodness, Dung! What kind of way did you sharpen that wooden spinning top? It's all crooked like a duck egg!" Bao yelled, holding the piece of mulberry wood that Dung had painstakingly carved all afternoon.

Despite all the fuss, she encountered difficulties when she started wrapping the grasshoppers in banana leaves. The dried banana leaves were too brittle; they broke in two with just one bend. She lost her patience, angrily threw the leaf to the ground, and her face flushed. At that moment, Mien timidly picked up the banana leaf, gently stroking it along the grain with her soft hands. As she did so, Mien murmured:

- Don't be impatient, Bao. The banana leaves are drying too hard in the harsh sun. You have to strip them along the grain, then leave them to dry overnight in the dew so they absorb the earthy moisture; the leaves will become pliable again. Also, when tying the knots, you have to follow the natural vein...

After much effort, by the afternoon of May 31st, Bảo's porch corner had a real "treasure trove." Rows of grasshoppers made from banana leaves; bracelets strung from lychee seeds wrapped in brightly colored floral fabric; and windmills made from vibrant green pandan leaves, spinning wildly in the breeze as if they wanted to fly to the sky. The three children gazed at their creation, their faces glistening with sweat, their eyes sparkling.

But fate seemed to be testing people's resolve. Around 4 p.m., the sky over the riverside village suddenly darkened. Dark, gray clouds rolled in from nowhere, swirling like ocean waves. A whirlwind swept through, accompanied by deafening thunder. The rain poured down in torrents.

The children anxiously ran inside to escape the thunder and lightning. A strong wind whipped across the porch, lashing against the corner where the toys were kept. The old roof leaked, and a stream of water poured down from the thatched roof onto the grasshoppers. By the time they realized it, it was too late – the rainwater soaked through, turning the grasshoppers, which had been so sturdy just moments before, into limp creatures with drooping wings like decaying leaves. The windmill made from wild pandan leaves twisted and bent by the wind.

Mien slumped to the ground, tears mixing with the rainwater streaming down her cheeks. Dung stood frozen, his strong arms hanging limply, his face blank. Bao felt a pounding of disappointment in his chest. He wanted to cry, but looking at his two friends, he knew he couldn't back down.

That night, Bao tossed and turned, staring up at the dark roof. Tomorrow morning was June 1st. Could the fair have ended in the rain? Then he suddenly remembered the winter days when his mother would hang bundles of bamboo strips and rice cakes in the attic above the kitchen so the smoke could dry them and make them last longer. Bao sat up abruptly in the darkness, his heart pounding.

In the early morning, it knocked on the door of Dung and Mien's house.

- Dung, join my group for the charcoal stove. Keep it small, so there's plenty of smoke.

Three children huddled around the crackling fire. The smoky smell of burning firewood mingled with the damp earth after the rain, creating a warm and cozy atmosphere. Bao and Mien skillfully used small pieces of wire to thread onto banana leaf grasshoppers and held them over the smoke. And look! A little miracle occurred in that smoky kitchen. The rainwater evaporated, and the warmth from the charcoal caused the banana leaf to shrink and become strangely pliable.

On the morning of June 1st, the sky, clear after the rain, was cloudless and transparent like a giant pane of glass. The corner of the yard under the old crape myrtle tree in Bo De hamlet became more bustling than ever. Bao and his friends had used vines pulled from the fence, combined with purple and yellow wildflowers, to string around the market area. A sign made of old cardboard, neatly written in colored chalk, read: "Zero-Cost Fair".

The children in the neighborhood, from little Tin to the three- or four-year-olds carrying their babies, flocked there, their eyes sparkling at the sight of the stalls.

"Brother Bao, I want to trade this smoky grasshopper!" Tin exclaimed, pointing with both hands at the shiny, banana-leaf-shaped grasshopper.

Mien carefully placed the grasshopper toy into Tin's hand. Tin was overjoyed, running around the yard with the toy, imitating the grasshopper's chirping "pip pip." And so, beaded bracelets were placed on the wrists of the stylish little girls, and Dung's wooden spinning tops were dropped onto the tiled courtyard, spinning wildly amidst the resounding cheers of the boys. The clear, crisp laughter of children floated over the slope, dispelling the stifling heat of summer.

Late at noon, the adults in the village returned from harvesting and passed by the dike. Looking into the corner of the yard, they saw the children playing and sharing their joy with each other using simple, homemade toys, and they suddenly fell silent. Bao's mother gently wiped away a drop of sweat rolling down her cheek, a soft, warm smile appearing on her lips.

In the distance, little Tin was still running around the base of the wild jasmine plant, his grasshopper, perched high above his head, smelling of the smoky scent of the kitchen fire, its "pip pip" sound blending with the afternoon breeze…

EMPRESS TANG

Source: https://www.sggp.org.vn/hoi-cho-0-dong-post855246.html