When Toi was two years old, his mother sent him to Mrs. Thanh, who specialized in babysitting in the neighborhood. About three months later, his mother disappeared without a word. Mrs. Thanh was also poor and realized she couldn't raise Toi, so she went to the commune committee to report the case and arrange for Toi to be placed in an orphanage, or to ask the commune to see if anyone would adopt him.
As if guided by instinct, from then on, Toi cried bitterly every day, to the point that Mrs. Thanh had to carry him out to the veranda and leave him there. Toi cried so much that no amount of comforting could stop him, and he even made the other children she was looking after cry along like a chorus. Coincidentally, Mr. Thoi, carrying a hoe, was walking by when he heard the heart-wrenching cries of a child. He stopped to investigate. After hearing Mrs. Thanh's story, he bent down, picked Toi up, and tried to comfort him, but to no avail. He went home, but his heart was uneasy. He returned and found Toi sitting in a corner, crying until his voice was hoarse. He hoisted Toi onto his shoulder and went to the commune office to complete the adoption procedures. From the day Toi was adopted by Mr. Thoi, the villagers of Ca Bong witnessed the father-son bond, stronger than that of blood relatives, every day. Mr. Thoi taught Toi to call him "Father Thoi."
Because the kindergarten was more than five kilometers from their house, requiring them to cross a bridge and three vast stretches of fields, Thoi's father kept Toi at home to play and taught him himself. Every day, Toi would happily recite poems and rhymes, then use a stick to draw on the ground, pursing his lips as he practiced writing his first letters. Even though his handwriting was messy, Thoi's father nodded in satisfaction. When Toi was six years old, seeing the children in the neighborhood excitedly carrying their schoolbags, he ran home to tell his father. Thoi's father suddenly remembered, dropped everything, and rushed to enroll Toi in school.
On the first day that Thoi's father took Toi to school, his imposing gait on his sinewy, bow-legged legs made him seem out of place and clumsy. Occasionally, he would stop, carrying Toi across the muddy buffalo wallows. Toi sat restlessly in class, constantly craning his neck to look at his father anxiously standing outside the gate. Toi's father, Thoi, was equally restless, craning his neck to look into the classroom for his son. The two of them waited for each other like that. When class started, everyone prepared their notebooks and practiced writing, but Toi's tears and snot continued, forcing the teacher to go home so Toi could study. His father turned away, his shirt bulging with several clumsy patches. Toi, sitting inside, looked out and burst into tears again.
Toi sat on the outer bench, his hands clasped together fearfully, his brand-new white shirt making him look as fragile as a twig that could easily break. Toi's deskmate was Dinh. To get to school from Dinh's house, they had to go around Toi's land and then across a bridge. Every day, Toi's father took Toi to school, and with Dinh on the way home, Toi felt reassured. After a few months of school, Dinh volunteered to take Toi to school every day. Early in the morning, Dinh would be waiting by the fence for Toi, and then the two of them would stroll to school together. And so, they went through many seasons of rain and sunshine.
Every afternoon after school, the children of Ca Bong village would gather in the fields to collect firewood and pick wild fruits. Those who didn't go would wade into the rice paddies to pick corn and catch grasshoppers to roast over charcoal. Outside of school hours, the children ate and slept on the hills, drinking water from the streams as they grew up. On summer afternoons, they would go to the river to pick white reeds near the water's edge to play with. When they got tired of playing, they would swing on the branches of old banyan trees before suddenly plunging into the water, swimming and shouting loudly. Toi's childhood was filled with his father Thoi, Dinh, teachers, and friends, always noisy with laughter.
One afternoon, with the sun casting sparse rays, Toi sat in class and saw a woman's figure faintly visible in the hallway. She timidly asked to see the teacher. After a brief conversation, the teacher returned and led Toi out. The woman, upon seeing Toi, immediately collapsed into his arms and wept, "Come home with me! I'll take you to the city!" Without waiting for Toi's reaction, she tearfully led him away, heading towards the road leading to the town.
“I want to go back to my father!” Toi sobbed. “No! You have to go to the city with your mother, why stay here!” “No! I want to go back to my father!” Toi pulled away from his mother’s hand, turned and ran, his eyes blurred by the tears streaming down his face, but he still recognized the figure of an old man standing silently by the cotton tree. That familiar figure was none other than Thoi’s father, the man who had cared for and nurtured the abandoned child for so many years, now bending down, trembling, with his arms outstretched, waiting for his son. Toi rushed towards his father.
Out there, the Ca Bong River was in its dry season, its bottom revealing winding alluvial plains on both banks, with a few small boats drifting gently like leaves. The fishing nets, salvaged from the high water season, had been removed, leaving only four bamboo frames stained with the color of kitchen smoke. From afar, Toi saw Dinh and his classmates returning from school, chasing crabs on the riverbank. Their skin was tanned and bright from the sun, their laughter echoing along the river. Beside the cornfield, its purple tassels rising amidst the white reeds, Thoi's father still stood there, his eyes fixed on Toi playing with his friends, his gaze glistening in the sunlight…
Short story by Vu Ngoc Giao
Source: https://baocantho.com.vn/mua-nang-a199208.html
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