The fire-keeper during the floods

"You're truly special, with your delicate, dewy appearance, but inside you're a knight," my colleague and classmate revealed.

1. She's a new teacher at the school. She's very special, with a delicate appearance like morning dew, but inside she's a knight – a colleague and former classmate revealed. She can easily make those around her lose their composure, sometimes innocent and pure, other times strong and resolute.

Illustration: Ly Long

“…The stranger, going up and down. Luckily, you're here, life is still lovely…” – I've been singing that line ever since you came to the school.

She was a boarding student, spoiled and prone to crying. My colleagues and I called her the real crybaby, helping her with everything, big or small. From fetching water and cooking meals to driving her to her evening classes, even carrying a flashlight to take her to the restroom. She was the boarding school's "little puppy." If anyone teased her and made her cry, I would play the guitar and sing: "You're like a rosebud, I hope you won't be cold..."

- With that kind of singing style, it's a miracle girls aren't falling for you. I can't understand why you still don't have a girlfriend?

- Because you were waiting...

- Who are you waiting for?

- A… “puppy”.

After I finished speaking, I gave a mysterious smile and continued singing. Seeing her blush like a ripe plum, my hands wandered over the piano keys.

- What kind of woman do you like?

- Don't know…

- What if I said I liked a cold guy like… you?

- Are you planning to confess your feelings to him???

Before I could finish speaking, she giggled and ran away. She was just joking, giving me hope, you fool...

2. After fifteen years in the profession, I thought nothing could stir my emotions anymore, until I met her. My initial impression was of a "puppy" playing the role of a teacher, but then came admiration. Beneath that childlike appearance and personality lay a completely different person. Modern, progressive. Rather break than bend. She appeared innocent on the outside, but her depths were profound. She was like a fantastical novel, drawing the reader from one page to the next. A feeling of awe, yet an inability to stop; the more one explored , the more captivated. She appeared like a bright star, dispelling the gloom and desolation of the mountain village. Since meeting her, nothing else has occupied my mind. She dominates all my thoughts.

From thinking to loving, it was just a thin wall of paper. I fell in love silently, without realizing it. I loved sincerely, loved bitterly. But I kept it a secret. The limit I set was that she couldn't be better than me. Thirty years old, the pampered son of a well-off family in the city (who emigrated for reasons I can't explain), now the principal of a high school, with a face that could only be described as perfect. I'm handsome, I'm talented, I have the right to be arrogant. With the female teachers at the school, I always act cold and aloof; every time I scold them, they turn pale and droop. I'm sad, but not angry, because they admire me. So much so that I think you need to be cold-blooded to maintain distance. It's no exaggeration to say that with just a wink, they'll willingly follow, "I'll endure hunger and thirst, I'll be cold and indifferent."

But you're different; sometimes so close, sometimes so distant. You're mysterious and unpredictable, vibrant and elusive. You make people feel helpless. No. Gender pride won't allow a talented man to lose to a "puppy," even if you're an "iso" puppy.

3. The day after she started teaching, I immediately scheduled a class observation. I chose that method to put the young teacher in her place. A young lady teaching like that is probably just a show-off! The immaturity of a newly graduated teacher couldn't compete with the experience of a seasoned professional; I knew I would win either way. Traditionally, I schedule observations for new teachers after they've been settled for two weeks. But her demeanor didn't allow me to delay. I prefer the tactic of "striking first."

It's amazing. She's no longer a "puppy" but has completely transformed. Mature and confident. She starts engagingly and ends gently. She softens and enlivens dry, academic material. Students are interested, and attendees are captivated. Everything is going very well. She guides each section of the lesson with incredible rigor and a scientific approach. Her method of conveying knowledge is highly effective. Was she born to be a teacher? Her posture, intonation, speech, handling of situations… all her actions are masterful; it's the demeanor of a professional educator. She has the character of a true inspirer.

She's outstanding, I admire her completely. I don't know when, but my pride started to crack. But loving someone more talented than myself? Women only need to be beautiful. Being too talented is inconvenient – ​​a senior who's been through two failed relationships warned me. Confused. Tired. I'm half-inclined to give up, half-inclined to take another step…

4. When winter came, I decided to form a flood and storm prevention team, and her name was on the list . Someone objected, saying she was a girl, so why was her name on the list? I explained that the school had few students, and the other girls had young children. She joined the team to handle logistics for the others. I was just following her request. And honestly, that request was exactly what I wanted.

I remember years ago, during those days of heavy, incessant rain, the men had to go to school and stand guard. It was boring. Sad. That was a long time ago, before you came to the school. You're still in the boarding school (right next to it). During the rainy season, the roads are cut off, so you can't go home. Besides, I still really enjoy chatting with you outside the office. What could be better than me strumming my guitar on a rainy day, and you singing softly, "...you're like a drop of strong wine, leading me into a dream, you're like a silken sash, entwining us with whispers..."

5. For three days straight, it rained in torrents, downpours like a waterfall. It was a continuous, relentless downpour. Water flooded the roads, the yards, reaching the first and second levels, and even creeping into the houses. The water rose so quickly. At first, it was below ankle level, then halfway up the shins, crawling to the knees, and reaching the hips. The water surged everywhere, flooding the overgrown fields full of thorny bushes, inundating the houses, and even entering the classrooms of the school perched precariously on the hill.

My colleague, I, and she struggled through the floodwaters. She stood in the water, shivering and turning purple. I shouted, "Go home!" but she insisted on following me to the riverside hamlet.

While we were busy loading people and belongings onto the boat, she bent down to retrieve books and papers bobbing in the water… She kept bending down, scooping them up in the murky water. The white pages were soaked, the letters smudged, blood from the ink spilled all over the white paper. I felt heartbroken, I cried out:

- Let go, honey! Give me your hand and I'll pull you up.

- But what about notebooks, books, school bags...?

- Worry about saving your own life first; what good are books if you can't save you?

But she didn't listen. Or perhaps she listened but pretended not to. The rain continued, her face was pale, her hands were bluish in the water. But none of that could stop her, the stained papers, her lips pressed together, trembling yet resolute.

I was in the same place as her, but suddenly I froze. Was something paralyzing me, or was it that I felt something breaking inside me? The flood not only swept away cars, cattle, and books, but at that very moment, the current engulfing her also swept away my own selfish composure. Unable to remain motionless any longer, I leaped from the high bank into the water to join her.

- Excuse me, ma'am, my house is flooded, my parents are trapped in the water while they're working in the fields...

Without thinking, she parted the water, splashing towards the sound. I followed, the water already up to my chest. The student's house was next to the stream, which flowed across a small hill at the foot of which stood a small school – a place that had recently welcomed a skilled and child-loving teacher from the lowlands. After two days and two nights of rain, the stream was no longer a stream, but a muddy, roaring monster, ready to devour everything.

She was cold, her body trembling, but she still called out to her students, her voice faltering:

Don't be afraid, hold on tight, stay still. I'm coming!

She darted towards the stream, but I managed to grab her hand in time.

Are you crazy? Wait for the rescue team to arrive.

- If you were the only person the students were relying on, would you calmly stand and wait for rescue? I hate the words "if only."

My throat tightened, my face flushed at her gentle words, but I felt as if I had suddenly woken up after receiving a fiery slap. Her face was wet and pale, but her eyes suddenly shone with a strange brilliance. That light penetrated my heart, filling me with fear, pity, and profound admiration.

I rushed into the water with her. My hand gripped hers tightly. Crossing the raging stream, we reached a small house by the river – the water had risen halfway up the walls. All three of us – teacher, student, and I – clung to a Styrofoam box, freezing to the bone. After bringing my student back to school to escape the flood, seeing her lips trembling from the cold, she hugged me tightly, pressing me against her chest as if I were her own daughter.

The students are fine, many local residents have been brought here and are doing well. Looking at her, I know she's completely exhausted; even I, a man, am out of breath, let alone a teacher as fragile as morning dew, but she still insisted on going with the rescue team.

- You stay at school with the kids!

- There's one more child, and she knows where it is, but I and the other members of the rescue team don't.

- We're close to the river now, we know. The current will be very strong, and we might be swept away by the whirlpool.

- Then we'll sink together!

She left me speechless again. "Together we'll sink"—those two words sounded like a vow, yet also like a destiny. I looked at her, in the blinding rain, and saw the extraordinary resilience of that small girl. She trembled, but her eyes didn't. In the midst of the raging flood, I suddenly felt a glimmer of hope within me: that people like her, like so many other teachers in this mountain village or some other hamlet across the country, are like lamps in the storm, even if extinguished, still burning with the full force of their hearts.

6. The next morning, the water gradually receded.

The schoolyard was still cluttered with desks, chairs, books, and rubbish. But on the steps, I saw her drying each notebook, smoothing out the wrinkled pages as if stroking a child's hair.

I walked past, silently, as if I saw nothing. Perhaps, from that day on, I truly understood why I loved her – not because of her eyes, her smile, or her voice, but because in her heart there was a light that floods, mud, storms… could not extinguish.

According to Short Story: Nguyen Thi Bich Nhan (baolamdong.vn)

Source: https://baogialai.com.vn/nguoi-giu-lua-trong-mua-lu-post573515.html