Fairytale Summer

"Grandma, what are fairy tales?" "Fairy tales are beautiful stories passed down from generation to generation, my dear!" "What is summer, grandma? Why do cicadas chirp in summer?" "Damn it, with so many questions, how can I answer?"

Fairytale Summer

Illustration: Internet.

She patted my head and smiled. Her smile lit up her dim eyes with joy and deepened the wrinkles on her face. She chewed betel nut, revealing her black teeth. Every time I saw her smile, a feeling of peace suddenly flooded my heart, as if that summer had never been so harsh.

Summer day, the sun is scorching. The sky is a deep blue, full of mystery. The symphony of thousands of cicadas chirps. Hot summer, noisy summer, majestic summer. Nostalgic summer…

“Ah ah ah oh, ah ah oh

Sleep you sleep long

Your mother has not come back from planting rice yet.

Catch the grass carp and catfish

Grab the neck and drag it home to feed the sleeping thing.

Ah ah ah oh…”.

In the vast space, the lullaby echoed in the mind, soothing the subconscious of the grown-up child. A summer day so long ago. In those days, “mobile phone” was not in the dictionary. Devices such as refrigerators, electric fans, televisions or cassette players were also rare and luxurious items. In the cradle, the child was sleeping soundly, on its face, the summer was so gentle. It seemed that there was no presence of the harsh summer sun and the daily hardships. Summer was so peaceful. That peace lay in a simple thatched house hidden under the shade of shady trees. Summer was bustling with the chirping of birds, in the chirping of cicadas. But everything seemed to stop when the grandmother’s lullaby began. Beside the small cradle, with each swing of the cradle, her arm waved the leaf fan. The baby fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. Perhaps, to her, summer was just the drops of sweat on her face.

The baby grew up in the rocking rhythm of the cradle. He grew up through the sunny summers. His summer had the sound of cicadas echoing in the air, the lullabies of white storks flying gracefully, the cries of cuckoos searching for their mates… The baby grew up in the lullabies, the songs, the warmth and love of his grandmother.

Fairytale Summer

Illustration: Internet.

In the hot summer, she often cooked simple dishes. She just picked a handful of Malabar spinach from her garden and cooked it with some crabs she caught. Or she went out to the garden and picked some sour plums or mangoes to cook with water spinach, and she had a delicious soup that was both sweet and refreshing. Her garden was full of green and the fragrance of leaves and trees. The scent of chestnut flowers wafted in the air, the scent of ripe jackfruit was intoxicating. One day, I followed her to pick jackfruit.

“Grandma! How long does it take for a jackfruit tree to bear fruit this sweet and fragrant?” “At least 10 years, my child. The young tree is planted in the ground, cared for, and then grows, and only when it grows can it flower and bear fruit. Young fruit also needs time to grow and ripen to be as fragrant as this, my child!

This land used to be barren and rocky, but with every spade and hoe, every drop of sweat, the soil was revived, the trees grew green, gave flowers and fruits. That is why it is said that with human effort, rocks and gravel can turn into rice, my child. Time passes, people go to far away places, but the fruits of their labor are still here.” At times like that, I understand that she misses him.

The summer sun dyed the rice fields golden. I followed the edge of the field to harvest the rice for my grandmother. The fragrant, plump golden grains had an indescribable scent. Only later did I realize that it was the scent of the earth, of the sky, of water mixed with human sweat. During the harvest season, the sound of the threshing machine drowned out the chirping of cicadas. The yard was golden with rice, the straw was golden with sugar. Royal poinciana flowers were bright red in the corner of the sky. The clear blue sky had clouds drifting lazily by. The silhouettes of paper kites filled with wind were flying high in the sky. Kites that had to be furtively torn from student notebooks, or better yet, borrowed from a few newspapers, then mixed with tapioca flour to make them stick. Looking at the kites filled with wind soaring in the blue sky, the children happily cheered loudly. The sun gradually set behind the mountains, and only when the sunset turned red did they return.

Fairytale Summer

My fairy tale is my grandmother. (Illustration: Internet).

Night. The darkness highlighted the brilliant galaxies. The moon melted into space. Fireflies flew in flocks like falling stars. The heat of the day rose up swelteringly. The small fan was nothing compared to the heat. I went out to the porch, lay on the bamboo bed, inhaled the fragrant lotus scent carried by the wind, listened to the cuckoo's call echoing from a far away place. Grandma sat next to me, her hair white, waving a leaf fan. Chewing betel and starting to tell stories of the old days. I just fell asleep in fairy tales.

In my restless sleep, I caught a faint scent of my grandmother, like the scent of grass, flowers and fruits in the garden. It seemed to be the scent of time, the hardships of the sun and rain, the desolation of fairy tales. The sky had one more star and my grandmother was no more. She said that when a person dies, their soul will be liberated into a bright star, which will always watch over the living every night.

In modern summer, the sun still spreads golden light on the streets. Royal poinciana flowers still shine bright red in a corner of the sky. Thousands of cicadas still chirp the love song of creation. But people lock themselves in their rooms with all the conveniences. In modern life, people are reluctant to go out in the summer. People distance themselves from nature, satisfying themselves in the cool air of the air conditioner. Children also fly kites less, they stay in their rooms, their world confined to their smartphones. And naturally, summer becomes more and more harsh.

I suddenly remembered the distant summers, the old days. The summer days with the old lady chewing betel, her hair white, her eyes shining with laughter. The sound of cicadas echoed, the sound seemed to linger for thousands of years. The lullaby was like the mist at dusk. “Sleep well, sleep well, sleep well…” Who is that with the white hair, bright eyes, smiling at me? Is she the Fairy I often saw in the fairy tales she told? How much she resembles my grandmother!

Looking up at the brightest star in the sky, I seemed to see her smiling. In the sobbing of nostalgia, my summer appeared with so much grandeur and mystery. It sowed a resounding love song in my heart. The chirping of insects from long ago. The lullabies, the fairy tales she told, the dishes she cooked are now just old things forever in my memory.

One hot summer day, I wandered back to my grandmother’s garden. Time had covered the landscape with moss. I found the answer to the question I used to ask my grandmother. Grandma, my fairy tale is you. And summer is the season of fairy tales.

Tran Tu

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