A day in Diem village

Taking off my cap, letting the early morning breeze from the Nguon River blow my hair, I leisurely took short steps on the towering dike. Arriving at a three-way intersection leading to Diem village, I continued downhill along a three-meter wide concrete road.

At the foot of the hill, I saw two girls going in opposite directions, carrying sickles and carrying two baskets and empty baskets on their shoulders. I guessed they were going to the riverbank to cut grass. One of them deliberately let the end of her shoulder pole lightly brush against my backpack and then chirped like a bird, as if wanting me to hear:

- Saigon boys are as delicious as jackfruit, I've already reserved my share.

Wow, the girls of Diem village are so bold. So they know me. The news of my return to Diem village yesterday somehow spread to Diem village so quickly.

I recognized the ancient banyan tree at the entrance of Diem village. My grandmother once told me: In the past, the village gate was built with honeycomb stone next to the banyan tree. When the cooperatives came, it was inconvenient for tractors to enter and exit, so they demolished it with earth. Seeing me from afar, an old man sitting next to the banyan tree hurried out to welcome me.

He called himself uncle and then spread out his trembling arms and touched my shoulders. Suddenly my eyes filled with tears. The first warm tears I shed fell on the ground of my homeland. My uncle had a pockmarked face, about the same age as my father, a bony figure in a brown suit made in the style of the old days. On the way home, he asked:

- Your dad called me for half a month, why are you just coming home now?

- Yes, I want to wander around to see the world!

- When we were your age, we also went from North to South, from South to the Northern border with guns in hand. Eyes wide open, looking at the bushes, looking at the sky that was always filled with streaks of fire. If we blinked, we would be shot. If it blinked, we would be shot. Life and death were less than a hand's breadth apart, my child.

Leading me through the crumbling lime wall gate, he said: My house is still the same as when your grandmother left the village to live in the South with your father. I caught a glimpse of his property, an ancient five-room house with a moldy fishtail tile roof. At the gable facing the garden, there was a rainwater tank with a semicircular dome and a covered lid to protect fallen leaves.

Two areca trees stood at either end of the pool, their trunks white with mold. The small kitchen, perpendicular to the gable on this side, had its door wide open, inside a mess of straw and a flock of young chickens were scrambling to dig through it, not knowing what they had found.

Everything was old and marked by the distant past. The whole garden of my uncle’s house was also very ancient with many old fruit trees with dense green and yellow leaves, layered in layers, casting cool and quiet shade. The sound of doves chirping from the corner of someone’s garden echoed. Living in this place was extremely interesting. A moment of nostalgia, I felt sorry for my grandmother who had to follow her children and grandchildren to live the last years of her life, stuffy within four walls in a tube house next to a noisy street.

My uncle personally scooped rainwater from the tank with a coconut shell and filled the shiny copper basin, urging me to wash my face. I happily cupped my hands and splashed handfuls of cool water on my neck and face. The faint scent of areca flowers dissolved in the water gradually seeped into my skin and into my hair roots. Was that the nostalgic scent of my hometown that my grandmother used to blow into my soul every day when we talked?

When the uncle and nephew were sitting across from each other on two black sofas, the uncle gently confided: Your aunt passed away ten years ago. My eldest son is stationed on an island and I don’t know when he will be able to return to the mainland. His wife is a teacher and lives in a separate house near the school in the commune. The second son, Phuong, who has visited your house several times, is in his third year of university. As for the youngest son, after the war at the northern border, I demobilized a few years later and found him. But it’s so hard, my dear, he was infected with Agent Orange from me. He’s twenty years old but he’s still so absent-minded and doesn’t look like a human being.

The pockmarked boy's mother is so brave, the pockmarked boy's mother is so brave. I heard the echo of a human voice, but it sounded like a parrot's screech, coming from outside the gate. My uncle stood up sadly: There it is, my dear. Where did he go early in the morning? He's just now coming back. Don't you think I'm miserable? It's already come to this point, and there's a cruel person teaching that inhumane curse to that little boy.

I followed him and was startled to see a big man, his clothes were covered in mud, his face was white but his eyes were wide open like two snails, half sticking out of their sockets, as if if he moved too much they would fall out. But those two snails were almost motionless, both the whites and the black pupils were coarse and lifeless, staring at nothing. My uncle, with his skinny limbs, where did he get the strength to drag him out of the well?

I helped to scoop water, he poured it down and scrubbed it like scrubbing a fat shaved pig. After changing clothes, it sat down at the beginning of the summer, gentle and kind, its lips pursed and continuously spraying out saliva as strongly as a child's toy water gun. A gecko was crawling on a custard apple branch in front of it, it sprayed it on the head and it fell down, frantically turning over and running away into the grass. It stared at it, suddenly stomped its feet on the tiled floor and laughed carelessly.

Laughing but it sounded like a parrot's squealing mimicking human laughter. I sat next to it and put my arm around its shoulder. It didn't react at all. It was so heartbreaking. We were blood brothers but didn't know how to show any affection. In this Diem village, how many big and pitiful children were there like it?

Ten years ago, my uncle spent all his savings to buy a small tractor. Three times a year, he drove the machine for hire on small plots of land of one or two acres for many households in the village. After the plowing season, he would do all sorts of things for hire. The income was not much, but with the pension and the Agent Orange allowance, it was enough for Phuong to study and for the youngest disabled son to have a comfortable life. But for the past few years, my uncle no longer had the strength to keep that engine moving and jolting every day. Now, every summer vacation, or when the school gave him a few days off, Phuong would come home to replace his father in starting the engine and making money. Late in the afternoon, I heard the engine humming outside the alley, and knew he had returned. Having met him several times in the South, today, from the first minute, I was extremely surprised by a strong young man, full of the look of hard work in the sun and rain, but his eyes seemed to be old before his age, not deep enough but clearly showing his worries and concerns. Putting him among his classmates, no one would think he was a student. The dinner of four men passed quickly. Without the hands of a housewife, my uncle's family's meal was heartbreakingly simple. The youngest son carried a full bowl and used a spoon to scoop the rice as if he was afraid someone would eat it. My uncle struggled to get two bowls. After eating, he put on his skinny body an old army shirt and said he was going to a veterans' meeting. Phuong and I sat on the porch drinking tea in the middle of the yellow moonlight pouring down. He murmured: Our village is so boring now, brother! After Tet, a few days, a few young people go to study far away, many put on their backpacks and board trains to big cities, every morning they line up at labor markets, a lucky few get to work as workers for foreign bosses. Otherwise, each household would have a few acres of rice fields, and after half a month, they would have no more work, and would stay home to starve to death? Nowadays, when you go out on the street, you only see old people and shabby children going to school. Every afternoon, the old women whose husbands work in Taiwan or Korea, with a few Won or Yuan in their pockets, happily call each other to gather and have fun, it's very annoying. You should stay in the countryside for a while, you will see many problems that need to be changed, otherwise... Let's discuss it later, but for now, go with me to the village cultural house to watch a free movie. The mobile team came to serve. Then he scolded his younger brother: "Where are you going, your father will beat you to death when he comes back." However, he did not forget to lock the gate carefully while his younger brother stood inside, his eyes wide open watching and his pursed mouth constantly whining: "Damn that pockmarked face, you're so brave."

When we reached the door of the dimly lit shop, which was strung with red and green lights, Phuong said: Let's go in and have a cup of coffee. The shop also had a few waitresses with big faces and red lips like in the city. The coffee didn't smell good, and after a sip, it tasted bitter like burnt popcorn. When we were about to continue, a man in a wrinkled army uniform sitting a few tables away approached and asked: Hey Phuong! Is this the famous general's son in our village? Turning to me, he continued: Let me introduce myself, I'm That, the son of the damned old man Nom, the grandson of the crippled Hieng, who was quite famous in the area in the past. Then he waved his arm, which was cut off at the wrist joint, into the air in front of him. Seeing my questioning gaze, he explained: He's not a war invalid, my friend. He was crushed by an old-fashioned rice threshing machine from the cooperative era. It crushed only one hand, but it was no different from crushing my entire life. After saying that sentence full of anger and boredom, he slumped his shoulders, his other hand gently placed on my shoulder, his voice dropped: Phuong, you go with your girlfriend, the Secretary of the Commune, she is waiting for you. As for this younger brother, leave him to me. If his family had not moved to the South that year, we would have been close brothers a long time ago. After Phuong left, Do pulled me over to sit at the same table with some young men with red and blue dyed hair. They called Do "big brother". One of them whispered: "Big brother, should we treat this younger brother? I followed the inspector's daughter, she had enough for six bowls of delicious food that made my mouth water." Phuong waved his hand: "Save it for me. You guys go away, I have something to do with my younger brother."

The two brothers were left, and Mr. Do lowered his voice: I am disabled, the cooperative did not give me a penny in subsidies. All my opportunities in life were gone. One of my friends went to high school and then to university, another was a worker with a monthly salary of tens of millions. Even joining the army and then working as a defense worker to escape the life of a barefoot farmer with bulging eyes was also out of the question. With a crippled arm like this, and a third-grade education and night blindness, what can I do to be worthy of being a man? I am in my thirties and still have a bare body with teeth and balls, the village girls with cleft lips and protruding navels also despise me, the whole village calls me a vagabond. Yes, I am lucky that I have not yet taken a knife to rob. Oh, well, talking about this is sad. If you stay in the village for a long time, I will tell you many interesting things about this village. Let's go to the village cultural house, go to see how our village is living, my dear.

We went to the place called community activities. On both sides of the gate, two high-pressure lamps hung on the top of iron poles, enough to spread light throughout the moderately large dirt yard. In the yard, there were already a few hundred people standing and sitting around. Most of them were children, very few young men. The majority were still women. They walked in groups of two or three, chatting away with their arms around each other. Before they could choose a place to stand, a girl with sparkling eyes reflecting the light of the lamp came to him and said calmly:

- Where did you get that new MSG wing, can you recommend it to me?

- Pfft… this is not your turn. If you register to accept him as your husband, it will be done right away?

She laughed and left, after leaving a sentence that dragged out each syllable: I don't dare, if Ms. Lo tears me apart, I'm so scared. This bold girl had just disappeared into the crowd, immediately, a few old ladies, but who looked a bit plump, jumped up and gathered around my brothers and me. I felt a few hot breaths tickling the back of my neck. A lady with a round waist stood right next to Mr. Do's waist. He calmly used his uninjured hand to rub a few circles on her plump buttocks in the dim darkness. I didn't see any reaction from her, and even leaned forward so that her lips were close to Mr. Do's ear and whispered: Damn it, aren't you afraid that people will see?

The movie program was not interesting, so we both left. Stopping in front of my uncle's house, he said: The girl who was showing me earlier is the famous Lo girl from Diem village. Her husband went to Korea to work on a fishing boat and drowned two years ago. He got a pretty good compensation for his death. Now it seems like the engine is really hot.

The first night I slept in the village of my fatherland. I felt as if I was lying on the waves of the Nguon River. The surroundings were so quiet that it was deathly quiet. At the neighbor's house, someone was taking a late-night bath, the sound of water pouring and the sound of the bucket hitting the well wall could be heard far away. My uncle breathed evenly, but he kept turning over, the bed sheet creaked slightly. On the other bed, the youngest son occasionally screamed: His mother has a pockmarked face. I opened my eyes and looked at the top of the mosquito net, the later the night, the thicker the darkness. When I finally fell asleep, I was lost in dreams with vague images crowded together, not evoking any clear ideas. When I was startled awake by the noisy crowing of chickens from all around, I looked at the clock, it was only 4:30. Still at the neighbor's house, the howling of a chained dog mixed with the hoarse cough of an old man threatening: It's still early, want to let him out so they can use an electric gun to drag him away. Dogs should be let loose at night to guard the house, I wondered. A few days later, I followed my uncle to visit some of my relatives' houses and saw that every dog was tied in a very secret corner, even the cats were chained by the neck. When I asked, I learned that in the village there were dog and cat thieves who were quick as lightning. They were so carefully guarded, but if they were a little careless, they would be turned into dogs and cats on the slaughtering tables of some small tiger restaurant.

I slipped through the gate and locked it tightly like Phuong did last night. Turning my face toward the dike, I slowly took short steps. There was no one in the village. The thin, gentle morning mist brushed against my body, feeling cold. The gentle wind from the Nguon River beside my ear created an extremely refreshing feeling. About to leave the bamboo hedge at the end of the village, hearing the sound of the river waves rushing into the air, I caught sight of a figure slipping quietly out from the two half-closed iron gates. He was walking in front of me, moving step by step. One of his arms was waving behind his back, the other arm was raised high as if he wanted to punch someone. I ran forward to catch up with Mr. Do. Recognizing me, he gently nudged me in the side, smirking: You know about Mr. Lo's house last night, pretend you didn't see anything, little brother.

We ran up to the dike together. Before my eyes, the Nguon River in the early morning was solemnly and primitively beautiful. The mist was like thin milk, neither thick nor thin, floating gently on the surface of the waves. A section of the river surface was curved, white and hazy like a sleepy girl, in a state of laziness, loosely covering her graceful, ivory body with a veil. Having stood before the vast rivers many times, deep in my heart I always felt a reverence, almost fear. From the bottom of my heart, a vague thought of regret for something that was being lost, something that could not be called out in words, kept creeping in. Like this early morning, I was pensively looking at the sail far away, gradually disappearing, as if it was carrying away many eternal mysteries to be stored in some faraway fairyland. I felt sad again, and for no reason.

Oh! Fountainhead, my aching longing! My guardian angel! I bow to you with reverence.

VTK

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