The Joy of Independence

Illustration (AI)

- It's late, mom. Let's go to sleep!

Song's voice echoed from the thatched house, clearly audible, but Mom didn't answer, just kept quiet as if she hadn't heard. Mom was still sitting, as if waiting for something. In the dim darkness, the late night lights were shining on the river, insects were chirping, mosquitoes were buzzing in her ears, Mom raised her bony hand, looking at the endless space. Then Mom smiled to herself. The river's surface was shimmering, lights were flickering in the distance. The sound of the engine was humming closer. It seemed that tonight, Uncle Toan was going to cast his net again. Knowing that Song's mother would be sitting there, he slowed down, turning the wheel so that the engine wouldn't hit Mom's legs - a familiar thing he did every time he passed this part of the river. Every time like that, he threw Mom a bag of fruit or a piece of food, asking her to bring it back to Song, afraid that he would be hungry and pitiful.

Song and her mother had been living in a thatched house for six or seven years, when Song was just a baby, and then, for some reason, they moved here together. Every day, the mother waded through the river, looking for fish and shrimp, and brought them to the market to sell for a little money to buy rice. On days when there were fish, Song was full, but on days when there weren't, the mother and her son slept with their hungry bellies in the house that was floating on the water. Many times he wanted to ask his mother about his origins, but looking at her smoky eyes, as if someone had locked up endless sadness in her heart, Song didn't dare say a word. Sometimes, when he was bored at the river, he would ask his mother's permission to go ashore to play with some kids from the neighborhood along the river. Some were the same age as Song, some were younger, they would sit together on the third row of banyan trees that had branches that had fallen to the bank. The whole group shouted until their voices were hoarse, teasing each other, echoing throughout the river.

These days, Be hamlet becomes more bustling, people come and go busily. Song saw some neighbors buying yellow and red paint to paint the national flag on the roof. I heard that this year marks the 80th anniversary of the National Day of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, the day the country was freed from slavery, enjoying freedom and independence thanks to the resilience, courage and strategy of our army and people, under the talented leadership of President Ho. Song often heard that information on the old radio that her mother kept right next to her bed. Every night after dinner, Song would sit and tune in so that the two of them could listen to the news.

For many years up here, there was no small television. The few days when he was able to go out to sell fish, Song saw the road to the village filled with flags and flowers. He heard that this year, our people were celebrating the “Independence Day” very big! He saw electricians enthusiastically completing the last sections of the power lines connecting to the residential areas in the distance. Youth union members and young people in green shirts were preparing songs at the red address of his commune. Farmers were working hard in the fields, everything seemed to be more bustling and exciting. Song wanted to join in that jubilant atmosphere, as if he were also a part of this important event.

In addition to helping his mother sell fish, he would sneak into singing practice to listen to the heroic melodies of the nation played by his brothers and sisters on portable speakers. He dragged a few friends along the riverbank, huddled under the village's victory monument to watch the performance practice.

That day, while he was sleeping, he saw his mother fidgeting around the back door, whispering something to someone. He opened his eyes slightly, trying to listen in but couldn't hear anything. After a while, he saw his mother come in, reach for the hat on the rack, quickly put it on, then his mother went up the bank, and walked into the village. Probably thinking that Song was sleeping, his mother didn't say anything to him. He was secretly happy, waiting for his mother to leave the door, he jumped up, quickly crawled out the back, raised his hand and whistled to call his friends. Today, he had a new task, to paint the national flag on the corrugated iron roof to celebrate Independence Day. The day before yesterday, on the raft, Uncle Khanh - the Head of the area, said that he had gathered some kids to come and let him guide them in painting the flag. The great day of the country was coming, he and the brothers in the raft village needed to do something meaningful to celebrate.

Over the past few days, on the commune’s loudspeakers, the wind has been blowing proud melodies. From a young age, Song has never seen a big music show or heard words like “National Concert”. He longs for the day he can sit in a car or join the crowd to shout “Vietnam”. At that time, he will surely tremble with joy, proudly holding the national flag in his hand. He wants to show off to his mother that these past few days he has volunteered to paint decorative flags in preparation for the “National Reunification Day”. But every time he sees his mother’s tearful gaze in the dim darkness, he feels scared. It’s not that he’s afraid of being beaten or scolded, but that his mother will prolong that sadness throughout the days they’ve been together. On the occasion of independence and freedom, how could his mother not be happy? So, he sneaked around during the remaining summer days, waiting until the yellowed corrugated iron sheets in Be hamlet were covered with the red and yellow colors of the national flag, then he would come back to show his mother so that they could both be happy together.

These days, Mom is also excited, half happy, half worried. I heard that in the old hometown, people found many martyrs' remains after two resistance wars against French colonialism and American imperialism. Mom vaguely thought about her father, the man who went to fight and then disappeared in another country, she never had the chance to sit down and call out "Dad!". When the country was unified, the country was reunited, Mom wanted to go find her relatives, but Song's grandmother stopped her. Mother and son struggled in the pouring rain of August. Grandma had to confess that Mom was only an illegitimate child. During the fierce years of war and bombs, when Grandma was a young volunteer digging roads for the army, afraid of bombs plowing and bullets, her youth passed by in the years of war and bullets without having time to return home, so she earnestly asked for a child to be her companion.

It was an autumn night on the Central Highlands battlefield, when our army’s “diversionary” campaign was quietly taking place, that fierce battlefield was immersed in tension for many nights. No one thought that during that time, a life would begin to be sown in the young volunteer girl. Everything was urgent, quick and hurried, as if in the midst of the fierce battle, people were still afraid of the day of returning alone, without the sound of children. And Song’s mother was born after the great Spring victory.

Every time she crept to the garden, opened her lips, and mumbled words to her father in a faraway place, she received an evasive look from her grandmother. Those trivial memories of her childhood always troubled her. Until the day when Song herself cried out at birth without the presence of a pillar man. The night tore apart the resentment of a girl who was almost forty. In that pitch-black night, Mom carried Song away from the village, avoiding the contemptuous looks that had been passed down from her grandmother's generation, to Mom's generation, and then to Song's. Mom did not want her own child to bear the slander of the world. In that dark night, with tears streaming down her face, Mom helped Song across the wharf, across the village path, staggering up and down to this river area. The name "Song" was also called from that time.

Today, maybe mom will come home a bit late, you cook rice and braise fish, mom will come home to eat later!

Song obeyed immediately when he saw his mother carrying her conical hat and walking towards the communal cultural house. For the past two or three days, his mother had been going in that direction, returning home at dusk. He didn’t know what she was doing out there, but as soon as she left the house, Song would climb ashore to look for Uncle Khanh. The kids were all gathered together, urgently completing the final preparations for the festival. Every time he came home, he had to jump into the river, scrub himself clean, wipe off all the paint that was still on his face and hair, and ask the kids in the Be hamlet to look to see if it was still dirty before he dared to go home.

These past few days, mother and daughter had dinner late. Every night on the house swaying on the waves, mother and daughter would quietly put braised goby fish with pepper into their bowls and eat them gently. No one said a word to anyone, it seemed like everyone was in a happy mood, happy to be able to join in the atmosphere of celebrating the country's independence day. Unfortunately, mother also hid from Song the fact that she went to the cultural house with some women to sew national flags, and put up red flags with yellow stars so that on the day they could distribute them to the people down the river. As for Song, he was probably afraid that mother would be sadder when she just hung around outside all day, and he also wanted to surprise her about the "independence day" campaign of his uncles and nephews, so he waited until the day to tell her. It seemed that mother was always the last one to go - he thought so, because for the past few days, all over the houses on the river, red flags with yellow stars were shining brightly on the corrugated iron roofs, but mother did not notice. Or maybe mother was vaguely thinking about something far away out there.

Hey River? Why are you covered in paint? What are you doing here?

- Mom, what are you doing here? I'm… painting the national flag to celebrate the 80th anniversary of National Day.

Mother and son Song looked at each other in surprise when they also met at the hamlet cultural house. Today, everyone agreed to collect flags, art equipment, and some banners and slogans to welcome National Day. The struggles on the roof were now over, Uncle Khanh took the kids to the cultural house to introduce to the ladies and gentlemen in the hamlet about the achievements of the "little devils" for nearly half a month. He also bought them some snacks from the market, after working hard these past few days, the kids really craved snacks like fried chicken and french fries, dishes that they had only had once in a long, long time.

Mom looked at Song and understood everything. It turned out that for the past few days, Mom had known that Song had been secretly going somewhere with some kids in the Be hamlet. She thought they were going out together, but unexpectedly, they were doing something, making flags and working very hard.

Following Song’s hand, Mom saw the houses floating on the river now changed color. The national flag printed on the simple corrugated iron roofs but shining with pride, boundless joy. All were filled with joy, welcoming the important holiday of the country. Song held Mom’s hand tightly, it seemed like it had been a long time since he had seen Mom smile…/.

Swiss

Source: https://baolongan.vn/niem-vui-doc-lap-a201568.html