Moonlit nights and the countryside

When I was very young, on hot summer days when my parents went to work in the fields, I was home alone with nothing to do, so I would often push aside the hibiscus hedge and run to my grandparents' house to play.

Illustration: DANG HONG QUAN

My grandparents' house is right next to mine, separated by a large garden, divided in two by a hibiscus hedge whose flowers turn red like lanterns all year round.

My grandfather passed away a long time ago. My grandmother was very young back then, just over thirty. She never remarried, staying single to work and raise my father and my youngest aunt.

My youngest daughter got married, leaving my grandmother alone in the empty house. My father repeatedly urged her to come and live with him, but she refused. She said that since her eyesight and hearing weren't failing, she could still take care of herself.

My father knew she preferred living alone and disliked the inconvenience of having daughters-in-law living with her, so he let her go.

My grandmother loved me very much. When we went to a memorial feast, she took a small rice cake and put it in her jacket pocket. When we reached the gate, she called me out, smiling, and pressed the dark, leaf-wrapped cake into my hand. I exclaimed with joy, unwrapped it, and ate it with relish. After finishing, I wiped my mouth and asked her why she brought so little. She playfully poked my forehead and scolded me affectionately.

In the middle of my grandmother's house stood a large, polished black ebony wooden bed. My grandmother often lay there chewing betel nut, fanning herself with a palm-leaf fan, humming folk songs softly. On hot, sunny afternoons, after running and playing in the sun until I was drenched in sweat, I loved running into my grandmother's house to drink a glass of cool water, then climbing onto the bed to lie with her.

She fanned me to keep me cool, scratched my back, sang lullabies, and told me stories. After a while, I felt sleepy and closed my eyes, falling asleep until the afternoon. When I woke up and couldn't find her, I ran to look for her and found her busily picking some leaves by the fence to make sour soup for dinner.

On moonlit nights, my grandmother's house was like paradise. The magical moonlight flowed across the square courtyard, spilling into the house and illuminating a corner of the wooden bed. My grandmother lay there, chewing betel nut, and I sat beside her, leaning my head out the window to gaze at the perfectly round moon.

The fairy tales she told under the moonlight were so vivid and captivating. I lay there listening intently, the magical moonlight and her soft voice weaving together golden dreams.

When the moon rose high and the ground was covered in cold dew, I heard the sound of footsteps at the gate. I looked up and realized my father had come to call me. Filled with regret, I climbed down from the bed, fumbled around for my slippers, and trudged after him home. At times, I would lie down, screaming and refusing to get up, and my father had to coax me by picking me up or carrying me on his shoulders.

Those beautiful days are long gone, twenty years have passed. My grandmother is old now, and my father brought her to live with us so he could take care of her. I work in the city, and every time I come home to visit, I still see her sitting on the wicker chair on the porch. I walk over and hug her, asking how she is. It takes her a while to recognize me, her cloudy eyes welling up with tears.

Having gone through many ups and downs in life, my childhood memories have probably faded somewhat, but the stories my grandmother told me under the moonlight remain vividly clear.

Having a grandmother during my childhood was a blessing. My dreams in my early years, thanks to her and her lullabies, were always filled with love and peaceful happiness.

Source: https://tuoitre.vn/nhung-dem-trang-va-noi-20250209110756205.htm