Early in the morning, heavy rain poured down, flooding the area. The black ants, their nest submerged, crawled in long lines up the roof of the hut. The stream at the foot of the hill had turned muddy overnight. By midday, unable to work in the fields, Nam returned home to tend to his ducks and pigs. “Parents, stay safe. Don’t go outside in this heavy rain; it’s dangerous. I’ll go check on the house and bring supplies,” Nam told his parents, his hand clutching a machete, his back slung with a basket, heading back to the village. Mrs. Vân stood in the hut, watching her son’s retreating figure. Her husband sat warming himself by the fire, muttering, “A little wine would help with this storm.”

***

It took more than an hour's walk to reach the field. It was manageable on sunny days, but when it rained, the path became slippery, and crossing the stream was dangerous. His boots couldn't grip the slippery ground, causing Nam to slip and fall repeatedly. The stream flowed swiftly. The only way to get to the other side was to walk across fallen tree trunks that stretched across the water. Nam put his boots in his basket, gripped his machete tightly, and cautiously crawled across the tree trunks to cross the stream. Below, in some sections, sharp rocks were exposed. He tried to stay calm and continued moving.

Suddenly, a flock of birds from downstream flew upstream. Their cries echoed throughout the forest. Nam stopped, looking up to follow them: "What's going on?" As the birds flew past, a troop of monkeys howled and leaped from tree to tree toward the headwaters of the stream. Nam sensed something was amiss, and he quickly crawled across to the other side, running straight back to his village. Nam's village lay at the foot of a high hill, beside a small stream. For generations, the villagers' water supply depended on this stream. In front of them was the Rào Nặm River.

When Nam arrived home, everything was in disarray. The ducks were sheltering from the rain under the floorboards, the chickens were perched on the porch, droppings and feathers scattered everywhere. The young men, not working in the fields, were gathered around the village head's house, chatting animatedly. He cleaned everything up, fed the chickens and ducks, and then went to his neighbor's house to play. The rain continued to fall, getting heavier, and the river water rose to the edge of the bank. Dry firewood, carried by the floodwaters, covered the surface of the water. The wind blew in gusts. Never before had the rain and wind been like this year. Their only source of water for daily use now was from rainwater-collecting jars.

The entire village was plunged into darkness. Nam tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The sounds of insects and the roar of the stream disturbed the tranquil silence. Boom, boom, boom… As he exhaled smoke, Nam heard loud explosions from the mountain. Rocks, earth, and trees, carried by the water flowing down from the mountain, swept into the village. In an instant, wooden stilt houses and concrete houses were flattened by the debris. Screams and cries for help echoed through the pitch-black night.

People scattered in panic, without having time to grab any belongings. Some ran up the hill to take shelter. Others ran straight to the neighboring village to seek refuge. Once they calmed down, they began searching for victims using faint lights. Phone signals were also intermittent. Mr. Tuan had to cut through the forest, run up a high hill, and stand there searching for a phone signal to call the authorities for help.

Cries for help and the groans of the injured echoed through the surrounding mountains and forests. Villagers followed the cries to find help. A few trapped individuals were pulled from the rubble by young men and given first aid. Strong young men placed the victims in hammocks and carried them on foot to the medical station more than ten kilometers away. The road was blocked by landslides in some places, with mud and debris up to their knees, forcing them to inch forward with great difficulty. Everyone was exhausted, but they couldn't afford to slow down.

***

That night, Mrs. Vân felt a burning sensation all over her body, her heart was restless, and she tossed and turned in bed. A mother's intuition made her suspect that something unfortunate had happened at home.

"Let's go home and see what's going on, husband. I have a feeling something bad has happened," she said, waking her husband up.

"But how are we going to get home in this darkness?" the husband sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Just find your way, and take things one step at a time," Mrs. Vân replied.

"But what's going on?"

"I don't know, I'm so anxious. Let's go home, husband," the wife urged her husband while grabbing a raincoat.

The two men groped their way through the darkness back to the village. They arrived just as dawn broke. Before them was a pile of rubble. Earth, rocks, and trees from the mountain had flattened everything.

Mrs. Van ran towards the crowd. People were trying to pull a body out of the mud. "What's going on? Why are all the houses collapsing?" Mrs. Van asked urgently.

"It happened last night, after a loud explosion while everyone was asleep."

"Nam is in trouble, he's buried somewhere, nobody can find him," someone in the crowd shouted.

Her head was spinning. Her husband ran from place to place, unable to locate their home.

"Nam! Nam, where are you?" the father cried out from amidst the rubble. His voice echoed against the mountains, but there was no answer.

Mrs. Vân looked like she had lost her soul. They wanted to find their child, but neither of them could pinpoint the location of their house. The army and police were still tirelessly searching, turning over every sheet of corrugated iron and piece of wood. A makeshift shelter had been erected; those with minor injuries received first aid on the spot, while those seriously injured waited to be carried to the medical station on stretchers. Their eyes were vacant and weary. Since the village was founded and generations had lived there, never before had such a scene of mourning occurred.

Running back to the soldiers, Mrs. Vân urgently asked, "Have you found my child yet? Where is he? Save him! Bring him back to me!" She knelt down in the mud, tears streaming down her haggard face.

"Mom, calm down, we're still searching. Many people are buried under the rubble," a soldier said, helping her to her feet and comforting her.

"Here she is, wife! Here she is!" her husband called out, standing on a large tree trunk.

"Where? Where is he? Where is Nam?"

"This is our house," her husband's reply shattered all her hopes.

The Wave motorbike was buried under the rubble, with only the license plate visible. That was the only clue the father had to locate the house. The couple frantically flipped over sheets of corrugated iron and wooden planks in their search. A few soldiers came to help. But after an hour of searching, even after turning over everything, Mrs. Van and her husband still couldn't find their child.

Some bodies were found; the villagers hastily made coffins from planks, placed them down, and buried them. Incense sticks burned, producing thick smoke. No offerings. No ceremony. Utter silence. Below the hill, rescue teams continued their search. Mrs. Van kept pacing back and forth around what she believed to be her home. She turned over pieces of wood, her eyes red with tears, searching for her son.

Excavators and several additional troops were deployed to search. The sun came out in the late afternoon. From the village's vantage point, looking up at the mountain, a strip of land had been torn apart, hundreds of meters long. No one could recognize the gentle stream that had nourished the villagers for generations. Nor did anyone imagine that one day this source of life would bring harm to the villagers. They had done nothing wrong to the mountains, the forest, or the stream.

Darkness fell, and mountain mist descended, obscuring the landslide-affected hillside. Instant noodles were hastily prepared, some people chewing them raw to muster the strength to continue searching. Everything remained in disarray. Several more bodies were discovered and hastily buried. The dim moonlight and flashlights offered no light for the search. The forces were ordered to stop searching and evacuate to a safe place to rest.

Mrs. Vân didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay with her children, but the authorities wouldn't allow it. They feared the hills would become waterlogged and landslides would occur. After much persuasion, Mrs. Vân and the villagers finally agreed to evacuate. It was raining incessantly. The next morning, Mrs. Vân and her husband moved into the village early to continue their search for their children. Twelve people were still missing. No one knew where they lay beneath the rubble and thick mud.

"My child! Where are you? Come home to your mother!" Mrs. Vân, clutching a bundle of incense sticks, went from place to place, searching for her child. In each place she passed, she planted a few sticks, the smoke rising in thick plumes.

The search entered its third day. Armed forces dug from the land, then paddled boats through the dense debris and driftwood on the Rào Nặm river, but found nothing more. Time was running out for saving lives; everyone understood that the only hope now was to find the victims' bodies as soon as possible.

Over the days, Mrs. Van's face became haggard, and her hair gradually turned gray. At times, she would become delirious, speaking incoherently. She refused to believe her child was dead, even though every corner, every patch of soil, every tree root had been turned upside down by the search team.

"There's Nam! Nam, Mrs. Van's son!" someone's voice rang out. Mrs. Van and the villagers ran out.

"It's definitely Nam!" shouted Mr. Tuan, the village head.

When Mrs. Vân saw her son, she was so overwhelmed with emotion that she fainted without realizing it. When she woke up, she found everyone had carried her into the hut. Nam was sitting beside her, massaging her.

***

"Where have you been these past few days? Everyone's been looking for you!" the village chief asked.

Nam recounted that he couldn't sleep that night, so he got up to smoke a cigarette and heard a loud explosion behind the mountain. He shouted for everyone to evacuate. But his shouts couldn't keep up with the force of the rushing earth, rocks, and trees. While shouting, he ran up a hill to take cover. The earth and rocks pushed everything down into the river. Nam saw someone struggling in the river and jumped in to save them. When he managed to pull the victim to shore, the rising water swept both of them away. Nam was swept downstream, more than five kilometers from the village, and was rescued by people living on both banks. The villagers cooked him a nourishing porridge and cared for his wounds all over his body. The neighbor Nam had swum out to rescue was swept away, and the villagers there couldn't find any trace of him. Hearing this, he was speechless.

With his health stable, Nam asked permission to return home. The villagers assigned someone to take him back on a motorbike. The roads were damaged by landslides, so after a short distance, Nam said goodbye to the villagers and walked the rest of the way. The mountain had collapsed, and the old land was no longer safe. The villagers were moved to a new resettlement area, living in sturdy concrete houses.

On his days off, Nam often returns to his old village to visit. The stream's water is now clear, although its shape is no longer the same as it was initially. The crape myrtle trees that were knocked over by rocks and soil have recovered, blooming with vibrant purple flowers that cover the area.

Nguyen Dac Thanh