White duck season in the fields

Illustration

The first rain of the season began to fall after a long heat wave . It did not rain much, just watering the fields, softening the roofing leaves and washing away the dirt that usually stuck to the green leaves. I often waited for the rain, even though it rained a little, it made me feel sad and inexplicable. In this country, the sun was fine, but when it rained, the road along the river became muddy and muddy. The village was deserted. Every afternoon, I stood absent-mindedly on the bank, watching the river full of water slowly flowing under the shade of the swaying cajuput trees along the bank, the bridge swayed, and a bird's shrill cry echoed, as if pinning deep sadness into my heart...

A few days ago, the pink trumpet flowers were still blooming brilliantly across the countryside. The pink trumpet season is probably the most beautiful season in this country, the season that I look forward to, the season of young girls in their eighteens and twenties grooming themselves to take beautiful photos and then admiring them at night. I don’t like taking photos. The last time I took photos was during Tet three years ago. At that time, my mother called me repeatedly before I agreed to stand behind the bougainvillea bush and take a photo with her. “Take a photo with me so I have something to keep as a souvenir!” - My mother said, her voice was joking. But after that sentence of hers, I had a bad feeling. Then my mother really left! I didn’t know where she went, and neither did my father. I only saw her absent from home during a season of heavy rain. In the letter folded under her pillow, my mother didn’t say clearly where she went, just a few words, that “I don’t fit in here”, that “my youthful dreams suddenly arose”.

I was not old enough to understand what my father said while drunkenly strutting in the rainy night, soaking the banana bushes behind the house: “A person’s life is only a time of youth! Why blame the starling for crossing the river?”… I sat absentmindedly by the light of the lamp next to the window, looking out at the river in front of the house. In the dark of night, the river water flowed down to the fork, occasionally a boat lost its way and had to go in the rain. Boats, like people’s lives, have often relied on temporary docks.

The trumpet flower season ends after the first rains of the season .

*

The ducks in the fields have entered their breeding season. The day I followed my father to the other side of the field to herd the ducks, I saw dozens of white eggs falling on the bank. I picked up the egg and held it up to the sun to observe it as a habit. In the past, my mother often did the same thing! Every time the ducks "disbanded", my mother felt heartbroken. My mother was a noble lady, not a hard-working, hard-working rural woman, so if she was exposed to the sun or rain, she would catch a fever and lie down for days. In terms of endurance, I was probably better than my mother. Every afternoon, I followed my father to the fields to herd the ducks. On the small boat swaying on the water, my father sat in the back, holding the paddle to splash the water. I sat in the front, chasing the flock of ducks slowly back to the hometown river. At that moment, I saw how beautiful my hometown was. The sunset dyed the river's surface red, covering the peaceful houses that had not changed for many years. At that moment, I suddenly loved this job, and felt a deep love for my father. Dad is a strong shoulder for my mother and I to lean on.

The neighborhood lights were on. Rain was drizzling on the thatched roof.

Whenever he was sad, my father often called Uncle Nam across the river to come over and have a few glasses of rice wine to warm his stomach. I never complained about my father drinking, because he always knew when to stop. Drinking was just a way for my father to relieve his boredom, and also to forget the sadness that had been deeply ingrained in his heart for three years.

Uncle Nam had returned to the other side of the river. His lamp was dimly lit behind the reeds above people's heads, and was dim in the hut guarding the fields, which had no electricity lines. On this side, my father lay on the hammock, smoking a cigarette, white smoke rising into the gloomy space. But the rain was still falling. The rain started to get heavier than before. I could hear the raindrops pattering on the banana leaves behind the house, a familiar sound but one that made me feel indescribably sad. My father lay there swatting mosquitoes, humming something that I couldn't hear clearly, but I knew he was singing a steady beat. Then suddenly my father fell silent, sighed, and asked me:

- Powder, do you miss your mom?

I was startled by my father's question. It had been a long time since I had heard him mention my mother, and it had been a long time since he had asked me such a question! It seemed that alcohol made words come out. Alcohol is a catalyst for true emotions to arise in the hearts of people with many worries.

I thought for a moment, then softly replied:

Yes, I remember!

How could I not remember that my mother - the person I had never left before - had now wandered to some faraway land without a trace.

My father counted softly on his fingers. One. Two. Three… Three rainy seasons!

- It's been three rainy seasons, Phan. Since the day your mother left...

I said “yes” lightly. I didn’t want my father to mention it again, because every time he mentioned it, especially when he was drunk, I saw his eyes welling up. At that time, I knew how much he loved my mother.

I pretended not to listen to my father and complained:

- This year the rains came too early. Poor ducks!

At that moment, I wished the rain would get heavier, a little heavier to drown out my father’s words about my mother, because every time I heard my father or someone else mention it, my heart would only feel more and more troubled. I know my mother still loves me very much! And I love her very much too! But the fact that she left us, I still cannot accept. I wish it were just a dream. I wish that dream that lasted for three years would be awakened by the monsoon rain.

The rain was still smoldering. The story about my mother continued in the old-fashioned three-room house facing the river. The electric lights suddenly went out. I fumbled for the oil lamp that had not been used for a long time, placed it on top of the wooden cabinet, found a match to light it and put it in the middle of the house. Unable to avoid my father's story about my mother, I mumbled for a while and then said to him, whispering, almost begging:

- Dad! The person who left is gone! Now there are only the three of us left. Well then… I hesitated, the image of another woman appeared in my mind, I continued: Aunt Quyen loves you very much!

- Chalk!... Dad interrupted me, because he knew what I was about to say.

I suddenly felt guilty towards my mother. But if I let my father live alone in a house filled with images and memories of his ex, it would be a great sin for him. My father is a good man! Everyone advised him to remarry, because he deserved to have sacred happiness in life. "Why wait for someone who has left without knowing when and probably will never return" - that's what people say!

- Dad! Listen to me… Mom is gone! Are you going to wait for her until the end of her life, Dad? I know you love her very much! I love her very much too! But where is she going, Dad? Mom now…
must have their own happiness. I feel sorry for the one who stays behind… dad!

I was so passionate and then I cried like a child. Since the day my mother left, regardless of the rumors, Aunt Quyen still devotedly took care of me and Dad. Dad refused several times, or rather, he used words that I thought would hurt Aunt Quyen a lot. She has lived alone until this age, she ignored all the proposals in her youth, and her heart was moved by an unfinished man. My father has nothing, he is not handsome, my family is not rich, but Aunt Quyen loves him with all her heart. I know Dad has no bad intentions, he just wants Aunt Quyen to stop hoping in him. In Dad, the image of Mom reigns like a strong, solid citadel,...

In the pattering sound of the night rain, I heard each of my father's sad breaths. Rain was falling in his heart. I guessed he was thinking of my mother. But actually, there was no need to guess, because in my father's heart, my mother was always present. Forever unchanged.

*

The season of trumpet flowers has passed, the rainy season has come, the trumpet flowers that once bloomed and dyed the countryside red, now have lush green leaves signaling a new source of life. Every trumpet flower season my mother quietly goes home, she picks up flowers in both hands and releases them into the wind. The wind carries the flowers down to the river surface like a shimmering carpet. Every trumpet flower season my mother takes me on her old motorbike to the district market to buy some small things, when we reach the place selling lipstick, my mother is amazed, unable to take her eyes off. The sales people compliment my mother on having smooth skin like a seventeen or eighteen year old girl, with plump red lips. They give my mother a bright red lipstick to try on. "A beauty like you should be a model to be worthy. Staying here for so long, your beauty will fade with the years" - the shop owner said. I saw my mother blushing with embarrassment, then she changed the subject:

- Oh my! A country bumpkin like you can't be a model.

Then my mother started her bike and drove me home.

But from that time on, I saw my mother was different. Her mind was wandering somewhere, forgetting to wash my father's clothes or to sit and sing vọng cổ on sad rainy nights...

Since then, my mother has left, but I still keep the image of her gentle mother, of her hands that often caressed my hair, of her eyes that often looked far away to some distant sky.

I looked at my father. The years had turned half of his hair gray, his skin covered in dark spots and wrinkles. I loved him so much that I could only take care of him through the dishes I learned online, finding all sorts of funny stories to tell him and letting him see how much I loved this countryside. My soul did not wander elsewhere like my mother's.

- Phan! Last night I dreamed about your mother. She came back. She will definitely come back.

Oh my God! Until now, Dad is still faithful to Mom. Until now, Dad still believes that Mom will come back.

Then you just wait.

I just feel sorry for Aunt Quyen who is still quietly waiting for someone to open up but that is just a dream. Just like Mom's return is also just a dream.

This afternoon, when the rain had just stopped, I followed the path overgrown with wild grass, the fragrant smoke from someone's house still wafted out. I went to where the ducks were preening their feathers to look for my father. When I had just passed the dam, where the wild guava tree was growing, I suddenly stopped. Before my eyes was a beautiful scene. In the sunset, I saw my father sitting at the back of the boat, and my aunt Quyen sitting at the front of the boat. My father was wearing a regular raincoat, my aunt Quyen was holding a stick to herd the ducks back to the coop before the sky turned dark. The red sunset dyed the whole countryside. That scene suddenly made my eyes moist, even though it wasn't my mother, I still felt so happy.

Dreams can come true, right dad?

I closed my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks. I prayed that somewhere far away, luxurious and bustling, my mother would also be peaceful and happy. She would be at peace with the life she had chosen. This countryside, my father and I will always be wonderful memories in my beloved mother's heart./.

Hoang Khanh Duy

Source: https://baolongan.vn/mua-vit-trang-tren-dong-a192507.html