Come ashore...

Út sat with her chin resting on her hand, beside the brand-new leather-bound notebook that Nhiêu had just bought for her. Faced with new, fragrant items, Út would often cherish them so much that she didn't know what to do with them.

- I bought this to replace your old, worn-out school notebook; it looks like a maze.

- Well, all merchants' ledgers are the same, exposed to rain and sun just like people. Remember the time our boat capsized and all our goods were lost? My father dived down just to retrieve the ledger, even though it was all smudged and illegible.

- And how are we going to settle all those debt records, dear?

- It's alright. Knowing that my father and I were in trouble, everyone who owed money has arranged to pay it back. As for the farmers my father owes money for goods, they said, "Take your time, don't worry." But why do I miss the river so much, Nhieu!

Time flies so fast. It's been four years since we came ashore. The floating market isn't as lively as it used to be; maybe even the river misses us.

Actually, Út kept the old notebook just as a memento. Her father and she had sold the boat a long time ago. Út felt sorry for her frail, elderly father; he couldn't continue drifting on the river until the end of his life. Another boat capsizing might not be as fortunate as the last time. The floating market still exists, but trading on the river is fiercely competitive. Roads are becoming more convenient, so many small traders have abandoned their boats and bought vehicles to sell their goods. It makes sense; riding a vehicle and speeding through alleys and villages is faster and less strenuous. Sometimes Út wonders if those who still cling to the floating market do so out of deep affection and a sense of need to preserve the long-standing culture of this riverine region. Or perhaps it's because they've spent their whole lives making a living on boats, their way of thinking and working so deeply ingrained that they've never considered the possibility of having to change their livelihoods and lives. Lost in thought, Út feels grateful to those who still hold onto the market, because it gives her a place to visit when she misses the river and the boat.

Nhiêu couldn't stand sitting still with a stall selling agricultural products, so she bought a motorbike, attached a loudspeaker to it, loaded it with vegetables, fish sauce, dried fish, and more, and traveled everywhere. Sometimes she would just follow the embankments of canals and rivers. Even on slow days, Nhiêu was still happy because she got to see familiar faces from the days when people used to row boats, stopping in front of each house to hand over bags of spices, spools of needles and thread, and palm sugar. Nhiêu's motorbike also followed the roads along the waterways, occasionally encountering boats selling flowers, and people on the river and on the shore would chat endlessly about this and that.

Despite the changes in transportation, Nhiêu still remembered the lonely old woman living at the very end of a small canal. Nhiêu could see her house peeking out from behind the mango trees in about half an hour on her motorbike. To get to the old woman's house, she had to park her motorbike, walk through the gate, and follow the canal for a long distance. The village was sparsely populated, and the concrete road hadn't reached it yet, so she still had to travel by boat. Fortunately, she had a large garden and deep fields, so she could eat whatever she grew. Every morning, the old woman would set up a net by the canal and catch a haul of shrimp and prawns. During the flood season, she would catch the fish coming out of the river, and there was more than she could eat. She would make shrimp paste and sour soup. On sunny days, she would dry them and eat them throughout the year. When she saw Nhiêu, the old woman was delighted: "Oh my goodness, I thought you'd forgotten me! The market is so far away, and now that I'm old, I can't row the boat anymore." As she was leaving, the old woman stuffed bags of mangoes, coconuts, and various kinds of cakes and pastries into Nhiêu's hands: "There was a gathering in the neighborhood this morning, and they packed these for me. I live alone, how can I eat it all?" At times like these, Nhiêu wished she could help the old woman into her car and take her around.

Meanwhile, Út went ashore and traded at the wholesale agricultural market, mostly loading and unloading goods late at night. Her father often warned her not to be "careless and mistake people's money for goods." She would say "yes," but her mind was glued to Nhiêu's car speeding down some canal. In no time, Út had filled the notebook Nhiêu had given her with a ballpoint pen. Nhiêu flipped through it, recognizing this section as Aunt Năm's house; she'd heard that Aunt Năm used to love traditional opera. Every time the boat passed this section, a hand would reach out and call, "Hey young man, stop!" This section also had a pretty little sister whose smiling eyes she always saw whenever she passed by. At this point, Nhiêu turned around and met Út's gaze.

- How about we open a small stall at the floating market, so you won't miss the river so much?

The words "we" stirred up a mix of emotions in Út. They had known each other since their time navigating the waterways, when Nhiêu was just a young man and Út was just a young woman. Back then, they rarely spoke much to each other. Meeting on the river, one going upstream and the other downstream, they might only have time for a quick glance. Nhiêu's mother was often ill, and Út's father was also advanced in age. The burdens on their shoulders meant their love remained unspoken. Nhiêu's mother died on the boat, her entire life ending on land before she could finally rest. Nhiêu loved the life on the river, but every time she imagined her children being born and raised on the boat, she couldn't bring herself to think about it further. The words "I love you" had therefore never been uttered.

But it didn't matter, Ut still knew that Nhieu loved her the most. He loved her from the sticky rice she brought in the morning, the bag of cold medicine passed across the boat. From the times Nhieu helped carry goods onto the boat. He loved her even the unspoken thoughts she never expressed, yet Nhieu understood them all. Several times, when passing by the wholesale market, he saw Ut huddled up, waiting for dawn, more alone than when the boat drifted aimlessly on the river. The night market was rarely visited by tourists , but Ut remembered the laughter and friendly eyes of tourists from all over who came to the floating market. They would often wave to Ut. They complimented her sun-tanned smile, saying, "Smile, let me take a picture for you." On the day the boat sank, the picture given to her by a tourist sank with the goods. But Ut could never forget her radiant smile in the photo. So now, hearing Nhieu's plans to live near the floating market, Ut asked him:

The river remains, the floating market remains, only we are no longer there. Will the river still remember us?

Nhiêu spent days wandering around the floating market, searching for an affordable place to rent. He wasn't worried about the supply of goods; years of trading had given him many regular customers. When acquaintances met him again, they asked how he was doing and if he was married. Nhiêu smiled, but his heart suddenly felt a strange mix of emotions. Yet, Út still hesitated when Nhiêu suggested leaving the wholesale market to "become his boss." It wasn't that Út didn't love Nhiêu; it was just that his elderly father was often ill. Út hadn't yet been able to secure a plot of land to build a house for his father to live comfortably in his old age, so he was still deeply worried.

- Then we'll live together under one roof. Three trees together can build a roof over our heads. Actually, as long as we live happily together, anywhere is home. Like my parents, who spent their whole lives drifting on the river, considering their small boat their home.

Nhiêu said this while trying on a piece of fabric he'd bought for Út during his travels through the silk-producing region. "Let me take it to my usual tailor. Aunt Bảy is very skilled at tailoring." Nhiêu's parents were gone, so he was alone, and the wedding was very simple. Út wasn't picky either; love didn't need a big fuss.

The wedding tent was set up by the riverbank. Everyone in the market pitched in, each busy with their own task. Fires blazed, freshly baked sandwiches and bean curd cakes were ready, along with hot pot and braised ribs... The women and aunts meticulously arranged everything. Many boats docked to share in the joy with the bride and groom. Merchants crowded the area, some carrying produce from their past voyages, others recounting old stories from their time trading together on the river. Tourists who happened to arrive were struck by the sight of a traditional Mekong Delta wedding by the floating market, with boats and canoes filling the river. The bride and groom's smiles in the photos were undoubtedly radiant. "Don't worry, this time no photos will sink to the bottom of the river. I'll frame them and hang them on the wall," Nhieu said, gazing admiringly at Ut as she combed her hair, her eyes fixed on the river sparkling in the golden sunlight…

Short story: Vu Thi Huyen Trang

Source: https://baocantho.com.vn/len-bo--a205930.html