distant countryside

I don't know what Quan was thinking when he said such bitter words to me. The moment Quan threw the glass cup to the ground, shattering it, I stopped for a few seconds.

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I don’t know what Quan was thinking when he said such bitter words to me. The moment Quan threw the glass cup to the ground, shattering it into pieces, I froze for a few seconds. Something broke in my chest, like pieces of glass flying up and falling down, countless pieces scattered on the floor.

- Quan! - I shouted.

Quan's eyes looked deep into mine. His fiery eyes from earlier had gradually softened. I saw that he was docile, gentle, and had a deep soul.

Quan put his legs together to show his guilt. I did not blame Quan. I never blamed Quan, even though there was a time when Quan could not control himself and let out harsh and hateful words. In my eyes, Quan was still a gentle boy. I tried to erase the ugliest images of Quan in his rage to keep the best things about him, because I understood that, if Quan had grown up in a normal life, he would not have had such deep wounds in his heart.

When Quan was eighteen, I took him to the city. The poor countryside was far away in my mind. We left, each of us still wearing black mourning bands on our chests. Mom was like a leaf that had passed away on the days Quan was diligently studying at his desk late at night, preparing for the most important exam of his life.

Mom was gone, there was a time when Quan thought he would quit school. I advised Quan, as if begging him: “Don’t give up, let Mom rest in peace.” Quan mumbled. He passed the exam that year. I was worried. In the afternoon, the two of us walked several kilometers along the long dike to Grandma’s house, climbed onto the hammock hanging on the porch, swayed quickly, and talked for a few minutes. Grandma’s figure swayed in the afternoon. Grandma caught a dreamy hen, tied its legs, and brought it home to boil with its wings crossed to offer to Mom before she left. Quan and I hurried back, looking back, I saw Grandma’s eyes were filled with tears…

Now, thinking back, I don't understand how Quan and I were able to get through those dark days. I asked Quan:

- Quan, are you angry with dad?

Quan looked at me indifferently, shook his head, and said nothing.

I smiled and said casually:

- Yes, it's over. Why are you angry? No matter what, he's still my father. If you want to be angry, you should be angry at strangers. Who can bear to be angry at family?

Having said that, I know Quan (and I too) cannot forget what my father did to my mother and me. In the last days of her life, my mother was alone in the wind-swept fields, her head wrapped in a scarf, her eyes dark brown. Looking at her hands full of scars from the straw after each trip to the fields, I burst into tears. My mother pulled me into her arms, then stroked my long hair, and massaged Quan's thin shoulders. She told me many things because she had a premonition of a departure.

At that time, I did not know that those were my last words… I was still carefree and innocent like the clouds in the sky. We did not know that mother was becoming more and more fragile, like a lamp hanging in the wind…

We often went to look for my father on windy afternoons. Quan hesitated, I urged: “Go, don’t hesitate!”. Quan reluctantly followed me. We followed the path overgrown with weeds between the two rice fields, going far away. Sometimes we met my father on that path, lying on the weeds, his mouth still mumbling something while the smell of alcohol was strong in the air. We helped my father home. Quan pouted, but I felt it was my responsibility.

- Mom, when I grow up, I will not get married.

Mom looked at me, surprised. I continued:

- Getting married like you is so hard! I'd rather be alone.

Mom smiled, but later, remembering her eyes at that time, I knew she was very bitter. It seemed like Dad had unintentionally carved deep wounds in our souls, so from then on, I was afraid of men, afraid of the smell of alcohol, afraid of the sound of knocking on the door, afraid of the cold look. As for Quan, Dad had unintentionally turned Quan from a warm boy into a grumpy one. I didn’t know if the love Quan had for Dad really still existed or had vanished forever into thin air?…

The day we left home, my father saw my sisters and I off to the end of the familiar dike. I saw my father’s eyes were red, but not because of the strong wind. We had only a suitcase, a backpack that Quan carried on his shoulder, and flip-flops on our feet. Quan walked a few steps ahead of me, while I stood rooted to the ground as if waiting for something that I hadn’t received from my father for a long time…

In the wind that carried the scent of straw after the harvest, I suddenly heard my father whispering. His voice was just loud enough for me to hear, deep and strangely warm:

- It's a strange land up there, try to live well! Come back when you have time... I don't drink anymore. I've quit drinking!

I burst.

Oh my god! All these years, I just wanted my dad to say that. Just once, all my wounds would be healed, I would love my dad again the way my mom loved him, even though he hurt her.

Tears filled my eyes. I quickly turned away. I had never let my father see me cry. I nodded repeatedly, just to reassure him, to let him know that I was strong enough to shoulder all the burdens of life, I would replace my mother in doing what she had done, to reassure her. I walked away. Quan walked ahead of me. Quan looked tall and sturdy…

I bent down to clean up the broken glass, gathering all the tiny pieces and wrapping them in a piece of paper. Quan was still standing there. After his rage, he had returned to himself. He was still my gentle, holy Quan. I understood that his life had gone through many sorrows and deprivations, and that he had witnessed the brokenness and separations that made him feel heartbroken and disappointed. Like him, I carried invisible wounds in my soul. Those wounds had not healed after so many years. Sometimes, something cut into those wounds, and they would sting and ache, making me unable to bear it, and I would sit there in a daze in the deep nights...

At those times, I think of my mother. In my and Quan’s thoughts, she is still there, in the shirt she wore to the fields that I carry with me until now, in the good things of life. For us, she has never gone to a faraway place…

Sitting next to Quan, I whispered. It was late at night and the only sound that could be heard in the city was the sound of the bamboo brooms of the cleaning ladies sweeping away fallen leaves on the streets.

- Quan, don't worry about the past. Live for the present and the future!

Quan looked at me intently. His eyes were sparkling and deep. I continued:

- No matter how painful the past is, it is still the past, forever sleeping under the dust of time. Remembering it over and over will only make you lose the best things you have.

The army was silent. My heart gradually calmed down. Suddenly, I imagined the scene of my hometown during the harvest season. At that time, the rice on both sides of the long dike was ripe and golden, the sunlight was also golden, the sầu đâu trees on the dike slopes swayed in the wind, providing shade for passersby. My hometown has always been the same, never changed. That scene, that person naturally made me want to go back, want to be a child again like the time when I held my mother's hand and trotted to my grandmother's house to eat fragrant banana sticky rice cake, and then listened to her tell stories that I never got bored of.

The sound of a piano from an ancient attic echoed in my ears, so soft… I looked at Quan and exclaimed:

- Come back to your hometown, Quan. Come back for a few days, visit your dad, visit your mom's grave. It's been a long time since I've been back to my hometown, and I suddenly miss it so much I can't stand it...

I smiled. Quan also smiled. Quan's smile was gentle. Like the times when Mom came back from the fields and brought Quan bird eggs she picked up in the rice fields, sometimes mangoes, star fruit... Quan also smiled like that!

When?

- Tomorrow.

Quan nodded. He didn't say it, but I knew he was looking forward to it too.

Returning to my father. Returning to the small house that has changed a lot since I left, but I know it is still warm and peaceful. Because it is preserved by my mother’s love and my father’s hard-working hands. I will return to the beloved river, to the fields where my mother sweated to grow new rice crops… Thinking of that, I feel restless in my heart. I look out the window. It has started to rain outside, but the rain in my heart has stopped since I don’t know when!./.

Hoang Khanh Duy

Source: https://baolongan.vn/mien-que-xa-ngai-a205953.html