Whenever I visited, when a train departed the station, I would often go out with him to watch the train pulling its heavily laden carriages away. The train glided past, with glimpses of people in the distance before fading into the distance. I said to Kim, "How can you listen to the sound of the train passing by our house all the time without losing sleep?" Kim laughed, "Just like you always keep me awake, but I still love you."
Who would ever compare their lover to the sound of trains rolling on the tracks? But I know that one day I will return to him in a house where countless trains pass by every day. I'm preparing myself to hear the train whistles echoing around the house, because I can't live without him.
Before I met Kim, I had been in relationships, but they all ended quickly. Then I met Kim. He said, "If you marry me, you'll have to live in a house where you can hear trains passing by every night. You'll have to comfort me when I'm sulking." I looked up at him and said, "And you won't be able to look at anyone else. You'll be the only one in my life." Kim chuckled with delight when I said that.
Kim is a good man. If he hadn't been good to me, we wouldn't have become husband and wife. Returning to him, I tucked away old memories in a special corner of my mind. That was Hoai from my first year of university, who would often wait for me after class and walk home with me. Our love was as fragile as the smoke in the evening when I unexpectedly saw Hoai riding with a classmate on the street. I didn't have time to feel the pain of heartbreak because it was just the fleeting infatuation of someone who had just turned 18.
Then Nguyen appeared when I was struggling to find a job. Nguyen helped me get a job where I liked it and it suited my field of study: a tour guide job at a museum. The museum where I worked was also a place Nguyen frequented because he taught history at the university. Nguyen and I had some wonderful days together. But then, like a fleeting rain shower, he transferred to the capital, with its bright opportunities for advancement, without any promises of future success.
I didn't hide anything from Kim about my relationship with Nguyen, because I believe that in love, you have to be honest and forgiving. My Kim has those qualities. Before the wedding, I burned all the commemorative photos. But by chance, deep in a drawer, there was a photo of me and Nguyen under a blooming phoenix tree with its vibrant red blossoms. The photo was beautiful; the sunlight shone brightly on my face. It seemed like Nguyen was telling a very happy story at that moment.
I moved in with Kim, and for the first few nights, the sound of the train wheels rolling on the tracks kept me awake. Then, gradually, I got used to it without even realizing it. Kim would joke, "See how lucky you are at my house? We have lullabies and we don't have to spend money buying them." Love is like that, a miracle. To love someone is to accept everything about them completely and willingly. I willingly listened to the train leaving the station with him. But little did I know that an old photograph I'd left in a drawer would almost shatter our happiness.
It was a beautiful Saturday. Kim had asked me to come home early so we could go see a play together. Kim and I share the same interests and rarely miss a good play. However, that day, due to unexpected work problems, I got home quite late, after the curtain had already risen. Kim was sitting on the porch in the dark, prompting me to ask, "Why are you sitting in the dark?" I turned on the light. I saw my Kim looking at me as if I were a stranger, questioning, "Have you ever been late for a date with your Nguyen?"
The photo I'd forgotten unexpectedly caused Kim so much pain and started a toxic war against love. Occasionally, when we were getting ready to go out, he'd say, "I'll add another mole to your right cheek to make you look like Nguyen, okay?" I remained silent. He seemed to take great satisfaction in saying those bitter things to me. He'd say, "Did your Nguyen like eating crispy fried squid back then?" I couldn't take it anymore: "I'm so tired, please don't bring up the past." Kim retorted, "That's the past for you, isn't it? Then why did you keep that photo so carefully?" He brought out the old photo again to torment me.
***
Tonight there seems to be a big storm in central Vietnam, so the ships are delayed. I waited for the ship's whistle to signal its approach to a densely populated residential area before drifting off to sleep. Kim was still awake, sitting in front of the TV, watching some video , but I guessed his eyes were glued to the screen, though he couldn't see anything. He waited until I fell asleep before going to bed. I waited for him to hug me and say, "I'm sorry." But he remained silently seated in the light of the television.
I couldn't take it anymore. I searched for an old photograph, then lit a candle and burned it in front of him. The picture curled up and burned completely, leaving only a handful of black ashes. I said, "Right now, all I know is that I am your wife and I love you very much." Then, suddenly, I burst into tears. Kim panicked and said, "Don't cry anymore, please don't cry. I'm sorry."
It was late. A train seemed to be returning to my station; I could faintly hear its whistle in the distance. In my sleep, I felt the train whistle sounded strangely different tonight. Yes, it carried Kim's breath. He was watching me sleep and murmuring in the darkness, "Even when you're angry, you're still so beautiful." After he said that, we both laughed. Our laughter drowned out the sound of the train clattering on the tracks. Perhaps that's why the train whistle tonight drifted endlessly, as if reminding us of compromise and marital happiness. Otherwise, perhaps trains would be leaving the station, taking lovers in two separate directions.
Short story: KHUE VIET TRUONG
Source: https://baocantho.com.vn/nhung-chuyen-tau-roi-ga-a195437.html
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