The fire still burns brightly.

The early morning sun shone on every corner of the city. Cicadas chirped loudly. The old tamarind tree, having just shed its old leaves, cast a cool shade over the newspapers the old couple had just laid out. After setting up his stall, the old man picked up the stack of newspapers, preparing to deliver them to his regular customers. Before long, Mrs. Mien could no longer see him amidst the bustling crowd. She sat leisurely, waiting for familiar faces. As soon as he propped up his motorbike, Mr. Tha sighed:

- It's been incredibly hot lately; the air is stifling from the moment you wake up.

As was her habit, Mrs. Mien reached out and handed Mr. Tha the newspaper:

- I heard it's been extremely hot for several days. It's harvest season in the countryside, and the rice dries very quickly when we dry it.

Even people are getting drier. Let's see if there's any news today. I see tons of information online in a day, but I have to read the newspaper to be sure...

Sitting with his legs crossed on his motorbike, Mr. Tha squinted, flipping through the pages of the newspaper. His habit hadn't changed in years. He'd make a loaf of bread in the morning, then come here, to this very spot, to savor his familiar newspaper, complete with a cup of black coffee. While reading, he'd glance around, looking for someone waving, calling out, "Motorbike taxi!" Usually, his customers were regulars. Some came a couple of times a month for checkups and medication covered by insurance. Others called him a couple of times a month to go to the temple on the 15th or 1st of the lunar month. Some asked him to take them to chess games a couple of times a week. Some regularly asked him to pick up their children or grandchildren from school at a certain time. Thanks to this, he managed to make ends meet. He knew these customers cared about him, so he always drove carefully. In this bustling city, people quietly cared for each other like that.

Lam arrived just as the sunlight streamed into the newspaper stand. Mrs. Mien was minding the stand while preparing vegetables for her husband's meal. Lam greeted her and, as usual, sat down on the smooth wooden chair:

- How have you been selling newspapers lately, ma'am?

- He's still a regular customer who reads newspapers, so he orders daily. But you must be very busy lately, son/daughter? It's been a while since I've seen you visit.

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- My two younger children are taking entrance exams for high school, and my mother is ill back home, so I'm constantly busy running back and forth...

Looking at Mrs. Mien and talking to her, Lam missed his mother terribly. Lam's father died early, and his mother struggled alone to make a living and provide for her children's education. There were years when bad luck just kept striking. The rice crop was flattened by unseasonal rains, and the flock of chickens they were planning to sell to pay for their children's schooling was hit by disease. His mother would sit sadly for a moment, then get up, walk briskly to the gate, and find a way to make ends meet. And so, a few months later, the house was filled with the chirping of chickens, and the rice in the fields was bearing grain again. "Heaven will have mercy on the sweat that falls," his mother often said to Lam and his siblings. His mother was illiterate, but throughout her life, every lullaby she sang was beautiful, and every lesson she taught was profound.

Whenever Lam faced difficulties, he would often think of his mother. The image of his mother holding his university acceptance letter from twenty years ago kept vividly appearing in his mind. That day was harvest season. The mother and her children felt like they were melting away in the sun in the fields until the postman called. His mother held Lam's acceptance letter in her hand, laughing and crying at the same time. She called out to the people in the fields below: "My son has been accepted into university! He will become a journalist in the future!" Then, as if suddenly realizing her hand had stained the acceptance letter, she quickly wiped it clean and told Lam to take it home and place it on his father's altar. Back then, only one or two people in the whole village went to university each year. And to study journalism, Lam's mother was incredibly proud.

Mrs. Mien put down her basket of vegetables and sat gazing blankly at the dazzling sunlight. She remembered how, in the past, there were several newspaper stalls side by side here, each always bustling with customers. Everywhere you looked, you saw people drinking coffee and reading newspapers, or eating breakfast while reading newspapers. It was busiest during the World Cup season. Customers would buy newspapers, so eager they couldn't wait to take them home to read. Sometimes they wouldn't even pay, they'd read them right away while they were still hot. They'd excitedly discuss and eagerly await each issue. Some people bought multiple copies, each different: newspapers for their children, parents, wife, and themselves. Even now, though it's not as crowded as it used to be, some families still maintain that habit of buying newspapers...

The old man returned from delivering newspapers and quietly recounted:

- Do you remember the customer with the birthmark on his left ear? When he was healthy, he always stayed a long time whenever he came here to buy newspapers. His house was deep in an alley, and he lived alone with his bantam chickens and his loyal dog.

- I remember. He used to sit under that tree, reading through every single newspaper at our stall. He said he didn't know what to do at home, his wife had died young, and his children all lived far away.

- He's been very ill. He hasn't come out to read the newspaper for the past few days, so I brought some of his usual newspapers to his house. He asked me to deliver them to him every day from now on...

Mrs. Mien sighed softly. That was a long-time regular customer who was always there at 6 a.m., rain or shine. Occasionally, people would advise them to rent out the space where they had set up their newspaper stall, saying it would be more profitable and give them more time to rest. But they still wanted to keep the newspaper stall that had been their home for almost half their lives. The stall was still there, waiting for people like Mr. Tha and delivering newspapers daily to people like the sick old man. And there was journalist Lam who would stop by to share a few stories. She would still sit here until the sun set, because there were still people who liked to stop by to buy newspapers because they trusted her, and also people who liked to read and collect them for display...

Mr. Tha had already left when a regular customer called out to him. Lam also said goodbye to the couple to go gather more material for his article about a student who overcame difficulties to excel in his studies. The "Supporting Students to School" column of the newspaper Lam works for has helped thousands of students from disadvantaged backgrounds. Many of them later became successful and then helped others in similar situations. Seeing Lam preparing to leave, the old woman hurriedly ran inside the house. She returned very quickly with a wooden box in her hand and gave it to Lam.

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- A gift for you. One of your husband's collectibles. A precious pen deserves to be in the hands of a precious person.

Lam opened the wooden box, his heart stirred by the gleaming mother-of-pearl pen. He cherished the precious gift in the dazzling sunlight. He still had much work to do, many unfinished projects. As long as he pursued his profession, he would remain dedicated. The passion for his craft still burned brightly in Lam's mind.

Short story: Vu Thi Huyen Trang

Source: https://baocantho.com.vn/lua-van-duom-nong-a207677.html