The ferryman on the old riverbank

(Illustrative image created by AI)

On a November afternoon, the wind swept across the fields, gently tossing Mai's hair. As the bus pulled up, she stepped off, clutching a bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums. Returning to her hometown from the city after so many years, Mai felt a surge of emotion. The road leading to Hoa Binh Secondary School – where she had studied – was now neatly paved. The rows of flame trees, once associated with so many memories, now stood tall like old friends waiting to welcome her.

November 20th. Mai returned as promised, to meet Mr. Tư, the man who had once changed her life. But for some reason, throughout the long bus ride, Mai felt strangely nervous, as if something awaited her at the end of the road.

As a child, Mai was the shyest girl in her class. She was quiet and always withdrawn, sitting in the corner of her desk. Her family was poor, her parents worked far away, and she lived with her grandmother. Her clothes were old, her schoolbag tattered, and she lacked books and supplies. Every time she was called to the blackboard, Mai would tremble uncontrollably. Many classmates didn't bother to talk to her, and some even teased her: "That poor girl!" Mai could only bow her head and endure it.

Only Mr. Tư, the literature teacher, was the only one who saw a different light in Mai.

One rainy afternoon, Mai received a failing grade in Literature. She sat alone on the stairs, sobbing. The rain pounded on the tin roof like drumbeats, intensifying the sadness of the 13-year-old girl.

Teacher Tư walked by and stopped.

"Why haven't you gone home yet, Mai?" the teacher asked, his voice as gentle as an evening breeze.

Mai bowed her head, tears streaming down her face.

The teacher didn't ask any further questions. He simply sat down beside me, and we both listened silently to the rain for a long time. Then he spoke:

- You know... there are raindrops that seem to disappear when they fall to the ground, but they are the ones that nourish the seedlings as they grow. It's the same with every sadness and difficulty you face. As long as you don't give up, there will come a time when you find yourself stronger.

Mai gently lifted her head. For the first time, she felt someone understood her.

The teacher took a small notebook out of his bag.

- I've noticed you often scribble random things in the corner of your notebook. You like to write, don't you?

Mai nodded slightly.

- This is the notebook I've kept for a long time. I think… you should have it.

The notebook had a blue cover, slightly worn but clean. Mai took it, her hands trembling.

- But… I don’t have the money to pay you back…

The teacher burst out laughing.

- Repay by continuing to write. Then show it to the teacher. That's enough.

For some reason, that simple sentence lit up a spark in Mai's heart. From that day on, Mai began writing more: about her grandmother, about the village road, about the afternoon rain, about the feeling of being cared for. She would bring each piece to her teacher for review. He would correct every small mistake, add annotations to each paragraph, and sometimes offer a few words of praise, making Mai blush with happiness.

At the end of the school year, Mai won second prize in the district's calligraphy and writing competition. She ran to find her teacher, showing off her certificate of merit, still smelling of fresh ink. The teacher smiled, his eyes shining with undeniable pride.

"See? Even tiny raindrops can turn an entire field green," the teacher said.

Mai clutched the certificate tightly, her heart filled with gratitude.

But life always has unexpected twists and turns.

One afternoon at the end of ninth grade, Mai had just arrived home when she heard her grandmother's frantic cry. Mr. Tư had been in a traffic accident on his way to school. Mai rushed to the medical station, her heart pounding. He lay there, his face pale, his arm in a cast. The accident had partially affected his health, forcing him to take a long leave of absence from teaching. A few months later, Mai heard that he had retired completely to return to his hometown to care for his elderly mother.

On the day her teacher left the school, Mai came to see him off but couldn't say a word. She just stood by the fence, watching his old car drive away, taking with it a part of her childhood.

From then on, Mai tried even harder in her studies. Thanks to her teacher's encouragement from the past, she passed the entrance exam to a specialized high school, then went on to university, and later found a stable job in the city. But every time she passed a bookstore and saw those green notebooks, Mai would remember her teacher – the man who believed in a child nobody paid attention to.

This year, Mai decided to return. She wanted to see her teacher again, even if only to say one thing: "Thank you, teacher."

The old school appeared before Mai's eyes. The schoolyard had changed a lot, but the Literature building—where her teacher used to teach—was still there, moss-covered but strangely warm.

Mai went into the former teachers' room and inquired about them. Everyone recognized her – their former award-winning student – and they were all delighted. But when Mai asked about Mr. Tư, their faces suddenly turned somber.

"Mr. Tư?" Mai's former homeroom teacher sighed. "He's seriously ill. It's been a long time since I've seen him at school."

Tim Mai's heart sank.

- Where are you, sir/madam?

- In the little house by the river. I'm sure you remember that road.

Mai remembered. It was the place her teacher used to tell her she liked to sit and read under the mango tree when she was little. Mai hurried out of school, clutching the bouquet of flowers, and headed straight for the riverbank. As evening fell, the water's surface shimmered with a melancholic orange sunlight.

Teacher Tư's house was modest, with a faded tin roof. Mai gently knocked on the door.

"Come in," a weak male voice called out.

Mai walked in. And her heart sank.

He sat on his old wooden bed, his hair almost completely gray. He was pitifully thin, but his eyes… were still as kind and bright as ever.

"Mai… is that you?" the teacher asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"Yes... it's me, teacher," Mai said, tears welling up in her eyes.

The teacher smiled, a gentle smile that warmed the entire space.

- The teacher recognized her immediately. She was still the same as the day she came to show him her first essay, carrying that green notebook.

Mai walked closer and placed the bouquet of flowers on the table.

Teacher… Am I too late?

No. The teacher shook his head.

- You've come at the right time. I was just tidying up my old bookshelf today. I still have many of your writings. I reread them whenever I feel sad.

Mai was stunned.

- Huh... why are you still keeping it, teacher?

- Because those are the most wonderful things I've ever received in my life as a teacher.

Mai's tears just kept flowing.

- Teacher… You have changed my life. Without you… I wouldn't be where I am today.

The teacher held Mai's hand; his hand was thin but unusually warm.

- Mai, the greatest joy for a teacher is seeing their student grow up. Your good and kind life is the greatest gift to me.

The teacher and student sat together, listening to the wind blowing outside and the gentle sound of the waves on the river in their hometown. A beautiful, heart-wrenching moment of silence.

The teacher whispered: "Will you still keep that green notebook someday?"

Mai nodded, her lips trembling.

- I still have some left. But…it’s almost full now.

"That's great!" the teacher smiled. "When you're finished writing, remember to show it to me."

Mai shook the teacher's hand.

- I promise.

On November 20th, Mai returned with a manuscript she had written all night – lines expressing her feelings about her teacher, her childhood, and that old blue notebook.

The teacher read each page, his eyes shining with a mixture of joy and emotion.

- Thank you, my child! I said I might not be able to teach anymore, but looking at you, I realize I haven't left this profession yet. The small raindrop of yesterday... has become a river.

Mai hugged her teacher, her hot tears falling onto his shoulder.

I will come back to visit you every year, teacher. I promise.

The teacher nodded, his kind eyes glistening with tears.

Outside, the wind carried the sounds of students reciting their lessons and the distant echo of the school bell. These simple yet sacred sounds seemed to extend the thread between two generations – between the silent "ferryman" and the growing children.

That afternoon, Mai left her teacher's house, her heart feeling light as if bathed in the morning sun. The bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums her teacher had wrapped for her to take back to her old school as a simple message:

"Teachers may step back, but the love they leave behind will guide generations of students forward."

On the village road, Mai opened her green notebook and added another sentence:

"This year, on Vietnamese Teachers' Day, I have rediscovered where I began."

Then she closed the notebook and continued walking.

The evening breeze blows, carrying the warm scent of alluvial soil and the call of an old riverbank – where a teacher still quietly watches over the students in whom he once placed his faith.

Time An

Source: https://baolongan.vn/nguoi-lai-do-o-bo-song-cu-a206890.html