House on the slope

It had been more than ten years since my youngest aunt got married. On her wedding day, I was a toothless, dark-skinned little girl. Looking at her wearing a white dress and a veil, I wished that when I grew up I could dress like that. The wedding was held at a restaurant, all the guests were smiling, only my grandmother had tears in her eyes. My youngest aunt got married far away, after the wedding she followed her husband, my grandparents only had her as a daughter, and she was the youngest, so they loved her very much. At that time, I was still young, not understanding the thoughts of adults, just sitting at the banquet table, engrossed in watching her.

When Aunt Ut returned to her husband's house, I rarely had the chance to meet her. Only on holidays did I see her come back to visit her hometown. My mother said that she and her husband were busy with business. Uncle Ut studied agriculture and forestry, and after graduating, he returned to his hometown to start a business. He worked on the farm and earned a good income. Aunt Ut stayed at home as a housewife, taking care of the flower beds; every full moon and new moon, she cut flowers to sell at the market. Aunt Ut had no children, not because of Aunt Ut but because of Uncle Ut. This made my grandparents even sadder. Every time Aunt Ut was mentioned, my mother always felt sorry for her and Uncle Ut's inability to have children.

When talking about Aunt Ut, my father was usually silent, like my grandparents and uncles. Aunt Ut was a proud person, she did not need anyone's pity. Even though we rarely met, some mysterious connection told me that she was happy with her husband, just like my parents were happy with their only daughter, me.

During my teenage years, without the person who had been with me throughout my childhood, the image of Aunt Ut gradually became distant as if seen through a thin layer of mist. It continued like that until the year I entered university. Living away from my family for the first time, I was sad and afraid of many things. Every holiday, because of the short time, I could not go back to my hometown, so I often visited Aunt Ut's house. Her house was actually not very close to my university. It took more than two hours by bus, and another thirty minutes on foot, before the small house with bright red tile roof on the slope gradually appeared before my expectant eyes.

In front of the house, there were chrysanthemums and cosmos flowers. Walking along the gravel path leading to the main door, I was astonished as if I had entered a fairy tale. Aunt Ut, wearing a conical hat, was busy weeding and catching worms in the mustard greens. When she heard my footsteps, she always smiled gently and welcomed me.

When I came to her house, I often sat by the stone table, the wind chime hanging on the porch chimed soft melodies, the sunlight falling through the leaves fell on my feet, shimmering with pale white spots. Gently closing my eyes, I felt strangely relaxed, the pressure of studying instantly receded, leaving only the peacefulness of a windy highland morning. On the tops of the tall trees, the birds chirped like children playing. She sat next to me, asking me kindly about my grandparents, my parents and my relatives in the countryside. I answered her questions in detail, then gave her the bags of seaweed that my grandmother and mother had prepared. She was always happy: "It looks delicious, it's truly a specialty of our hometown. I will make salad, my uncle loves this dish."

She then stood up and went to the kitchen to prepare the ingredients for the seaweed salad. I also helped her. The two of us cooked and chatted, the highland winds blew, swaying the curtains, carrying the smell of moist soil and the strong scent of flowers. The sun rose higher, the clock on the wall struck twelve, and at the same time the sound of Uncle Ut's motorbike stopped in front of the yard. He had just returned from the fields.

My uncle entered the house, wearing a wide-brimmed cloth hat, his steps were firm, his voice was loud. I greeted him, he often smiled and complimented me on growing up quickly. The rice was served on the stone table in front of the porch, hot and fragrant. My uncle praised the seaweed salad as delicious, and my aunt heard that and said that her family had sent a lot, saving it to mix the salad for my uncle. My uncle smiled and put food in her bowl.

After dinner, my aunt and uncle sat on the porch drinking water, whispering about business. This year, pepper was a big crop, my uncle planned to expand the farmland and plant more. When I finished washing the dishes and went out, my uncle had already returned to the farm. So my aunt and I just sat under the blue pea flowers, the wind caressing my ears, I suddenly wanted to stay here forever. This wooden house is so peaceful, the pace of life is so calm and pleasant...

Aunt Ut was busy all day with the large garden, growing vegetables, growing flowers, and doing housework, so I never saw her rest. I wanted to help, so I rolled up my sleeves and worked with her. I liked the early mornings when I cut flowers to sell at the market. The market was not big, and there were not many buyers and sellers. The two of them sat on the roadside, under the shade of a young banyan tree, inviting customers to come and go. Most of them were acquaintances, and when they stopped to buy flowers, they did not bargain, only asking about their children and their spouses. I also liked the peaceful evenings when we walked along the winding slope. The two of them walked side by side, the moon above was as bright as a copper tray, and fireflies flew in flocks and twinkled. Returning from the walk, Aunt Ut made a pot of butterfly pea flower tea, the green color of the water was as fragrant as the new sunshine, and after taking a sip, she wanted to take another.

Sometimes someone would come to the little house. They would buy vegetables and flowers in large quantities, so they had to order them several days in advance; sometimes it was a day laborer who came to advance money for something. These people were all simple and honest, with shiny dark skin and eyes that sparkled under their eyelashes. She always invited them to drink a cup of fragrant tea, eat a piece of cake, and put into their hands fruits picked from the garden to send to a little grandchild.

During the days I stayed at her house, I lay on the hammock, watched the sunlight fall through the leaves, listened to the birds chirping, and found myself wishing for a simple life like that. Seeing her busy with the large garden, preparing every meal for her uncle, and managing the family's income and expenses, I thought that no sadness could be mixed in with this peaceful routine. Her eyes were brighter than the day she got married, perhaps she was satisfied with what was happening around her.

Aunt Ut is skillful and a good cook. I love the fragrant vanilla sponge cakes she bakes in the oven, and I also love the smooth avocado smoothie sprinkled with white coconut on top. The day I returned to school, she cooked a meal full of my favorite dishes. She also packed a lot of cakes and fruits for me to take to the street to share with my friends. Before getting in the car for my uncle to take me to the main road, she held my hand and told me many things. I squeezed her hand tightly, promising to come back to visit again on the next holiday.

The years passed by, during my student years, and then the hard and stressful days after graduating, the wooden house on the slope became a peaceful place for me to return to after all the hustle and bustle. My aunt and uncle are now older than before, the front yard is no longer filled with flowers. But when I visited, I found the house as peaceful as in my memories. Uncle Ut was no longer busy with the pepper plantations, so he was home more often. Aunt Ut still worked with the fruit trees in the garden, still baked delicious cakes, still lovingly stroked my hair every time she visited.

I always believed that my aunt was very happy, there was nothing to worry about like my mother often worried. Everyone has their own definition of life, there is no right or wrong, as long as we are satisfied...

Short story: LE NHUNG

Source: https://baocantho.com.vn/ngoi-nha-tren-trien-doc-a187729.html