Spring symbols

She stood silently, watching the circle of children surrounding Viet. He didn't seem tired at all, constantly gesturing with his hands. Occasionally, she saw him turn towards her, a slight smile on his face, his eyes bright and clear, as if to say to her that he had kept his promise.

Minh họa: Hoàng Đặng — Illustration: Hoang Dang

It was the twenty-eighth day of the Lunar New Year, and everything in the streets seemed more hectic than ever. The wind was biting cold. The afternoons were more somber. And the nights seemed to drag on slowly. All sorts of thoughts drifted through her mind.

She met Viet on the heritage train from Hue to Da Nang . That meaningful summer train journey was a reward she and a few volunteers gave to the children at the "Sign Language" school. These children were born with hearing impairments, so they could only communicate using their fingertips and facial expressions.

In the heritage carriage, she boldly asked the train conductor if the children could sing. After explaining the situation thoroughly, the conductor unexpectedly showed enthusiasm and quickly informed the flight attendants about the special performance. Twenty children sang the song "Little Rose" using sign language. Suddenly, the entire heritage carriage erupted in applause. The children giggled excitedly, while her eyes welled up with tears.

As the train pulled into Da Nang station, while she was busy counting the children, a young man approached her. He quickly jotted down a line of text on a piece of paper. She was startled. The young man thought she was just like the children. She shook her head and explained that she was only a volunteer. They both laughed awkwardly.

Much later, sitting together by the Han River, she asked Viet why he had chosen to accompany the children at that moment. Viet silently gazed at the windy night and smiled faintly. Viet liked roses. When he heard the boat captain explain the song's title, he knew it was fate. And because he saw the children's smiles. They shone brighter than anything he had ever seen in his life.

After that heritage train journey, Viet proactively went to school on weekends, bringing lots of snacks and beginning to learn simple handwriting. Whenever a faucet broke, Viet would roll up his sleeves and tinker with it. He rearranged tables, added chairs, and installed plastic tubing to cover excess electrical wires to prevent the children from getting electrocuted. He was there immediately for every unnamed task the teachers asked him to do or volunteers called for. Sometimes, on those weekends, the teachers would even arrive later than Viet.

Viet's arrival was like a breath of fresh air, bringing many wonderful things to the children. He introduced them to all sorts of games, and then divided them into groups for sports competitions. One day, Viet organized chess and badminton lessons for them, and he even unhesitatingly dressed up as Santa Claus to hand out gifts on Christmas Day during his first year at this "Sign Language" school. A true Santa Claus, he let the children climb on his back and carried them around the yard.

It wasn't until two months after arriving at the "Sign Language" school that the young man tentatively asked the teacher to teach him to read and write Vietnamese. He was there on a survey trip for his parent company to invest in a high-tech zone in the eastern part of the city – a project to develop the semiconductor industry for the city.

It was initially just a plan, but once he arrived, he was captivated by the tranquil atmosphere of the seaside city. Every person he met, even strangers, greeted him with a smile. When the project began, the parent company assigned him to be the technical supervisor.

Born and raised halfway around the world, with a time difference of day and night, this place still felt strangely familiar to Viet. He temporarily omitted the name Ben from his birth certificate and adopted the name Viet. He smiled gently, a slightly shy smile, when she asked about this very Vietnamese name. The tall, well-built foreign man had curly blond hair and striking blue eyes.

She agreed to tutor Viet so he could read and write his native language fluently. No fee was required; all Viet needed to do was visit the children whenever he was free. The children had already grown fond of Viet. If Viet didn't visit for a week, they would gaze longingly at him, asking everyone about him. They were always worried that Viet would return to his homeland and forget about them.

She once asked Viet that question. When was that? Viet hesitated, looking at her, then quickly averted his gaze to the distance. "This project is long-term, but it will train the local people to create the microcircuits and chips, while experts will only supervise and provide guidance periodically. Two years." Viet spoke softly, as if letting the wind carry his words across the vast expanse of Da Nang. But, strangely, she heard him clearly. She felt a growing unease in her heart.

That year was also the first time Viet came to say goodbye to her because he had to return to his hometown to report on the progress of his work. "Could you come to the airport to see me off?" Viet asked, but she remained silent. It wasn't until just before his flight that she sent a message wishing Viet a safe journey. That evening, she sat inside the schoolyard with the children. They were still excited by Viet's promise to celebrate their first Tet (Lunar New Year) in Da Nang with them.

But the kids quickly forgot about it. When Viet returned for his second year of work with lots of gifts and treats, they clung to him again. The foreign guy now spoke fluently and wrote well, with clear sentences and ideas. Everyone who met Viet was surprised by his speaking and writing abilities.

Several times she suggested she stop tutoring Viet. But Viet kept hesitating, saying there were so many things he wanted to learn, know, and do with this land and with the children. She softened and started teaching him everything from culture and history to cooking. According to him, everything had to be learned.

The eastern part of the city was developing into a high-tech zone. Viet seemed busier than ever. Sometimes he only visited school every two weeks, other times it was a whole month. One day, Viet messaged her to cancel a class because he had to meet with a business partner. Occasionally, he would come to the cafe looking exhausted, with sleep-deprived eyes.

During those times, instead of teaching, she would spend time chatting with him, or simply sit and watch him hastily finish his sandwich, quickly drink his glass of water, and let out a sigh. He looked at her. She looked at him. Then they would walk from the small cafe to the Han River bank to enjoy the breeze. She knew he was overwhelmed with work and needed to relax.

He told her about the passion he had poured into this project. He wanted to build this city into a regional leader in semiconductor technology and a global-scale producer of high-quality chips. She listened to the foreign man's enthusiastic and determined words. If his hair hadn't been curly blonde, if his eyes hadn't been a striking blue, and if his accent hadn't been so distinctive, she might have thought he was a native of this land.

This is Viet's second year, which means that when the last page of the calendar is torn off, Viet's technical supervision period will end. She knows this well. As these days draw to a close, she feels increasingly uneasy, as if waves of sound from the Han River are crashing into her heart. But she keeps it to herself, not letting Viet know.

She began teaching Viet the traditional New Year's dishes of her country. She braised meat in a pot, wrapped banh tet (Vietnamese rice cakes), and prepared red envelopes, just like a traditional Lunar New Year celebration to bid Viet farewell. She invited Viet to her house, for the first time in a long time since they had known each other. She wanted to give Viet a warm, family-like meal. It was Viet's last night in Da Nang, and she laid everything out and offered him her best wishes. They just looked at each other.

It wasn't until Viet took her hand and asked if she would trust him one more time that she finally understood. He would come back. He wanted to celebrate spring with the children. He wanted to make bánh chưng (traditional Vietnamese rice cakes), watch the New Year's Eve celebrations, receive lucky money, and give lucky money to the children. Trust him. She didn't know how to respond. But, she still nodded, just as she had done so many times before.

And Viet did return. After playing with the children, Viet took her home. The city was filled with the scent of spring. She and Viet were lost in the streets lined with stalls selling all kinds of goods for the Lunar New Year. It was the night of the 28th, everything was more hectic but also more festive.

Viet hesitated for a long time, then turned to her and said that this year they had to prepare for Tet. That meant buying food, braising meat, making banh tet (traditional Vietnamese rice cakes), and having ao dai (traditional Vietnamese dress) made. And they had to make sure there were enough for five people to celebrate Tet. She was taken aback. Five people? His colleagues too? No. Viet scratched his head, then spread his hands out to count. Me, Dad, Mom, and my younger sister. I came ahead of time, just as I had arranged with you and the kids. They'll be arriving at Da Nang airport on the afternoon of the 29th of Tet.

"Oh, and there's one more person..." Viet pointed to his heart, then folded his three middle fingers together, leaving only his little finger and thumb straight, drawing them from his heart towards her. This was the sign that said, "I love you!"

Amidst the bustling Tet streets, Viet placed her hand on her heart. She could hear the rhythm of spring urging her on in the wind. Even before New Year's Eve, that symbol had already brought spring to her heart.

According to TONG PHUOC BAO (baodanang.vn)

Source: https://baogialai.com.vn/ky-hieu-mua-xuan-post578328.html