Early in the morning, it rained heavily, and the water flowed in streams. The black ants had their nests flooded, and they crawled in rows up to the roof of the hut. The stream at the foot of the hill was muddy overnight. After noon, unable to work in the fields, Nam returned home to take care of the geese and pigs. “Mom and Dad, stay safe, it’s dangerous if it rains heavily. I’ll go back and check on the house and bring food,” Nam told his parents, machete in hand and basket on his back, returning to the village. Mrs. Van stood in the hut, watching her son’s figure. Her husband sat warming himself by the fire, muttering, “A little wine will help with the rain and wind.”

***

It took more than an hour to get to the field. Sunny days were fine, but when it rained, the road was slippery and crossing the stream was dangerous. His boots could not grip the slippery ground, causing Nam to keep slipping and falling. The stream was flowing rapidly. The only way to get to the other side was to walk on a fallen tree trunk across the stream. Nam put his boots in his backpack, held his machete tightly in his hand, and crawled along the tree trunk across the stream. Below, there were some sections of sharp rocks. He tried to stay calm and continued moving.

Suddenly, a flock of birds from the lower stream flew up to the upper stream. Their cries echoed throughout the forest. Nam stopped and looked up: "What's going on?" As soon as the birds flew past, a group of monkeys screamed and jumped from tree to tree towards the upper stream. Nam sensed something, so he quickly crawled to the other side and ran straight back to the village. Nam's village was located at the foot of a high hill, next to a small stream. The villagers' water source had depended on the stream for generations. In front of them was the Rao Nam River.

When Nam returned home, everything was in disarray. The ducks were hiding under the rain on the floor, the chickens were jumping up and standing on the porch, droppings and feathers were scattered everywhere. The young men did not go to the fields, but sat together at the village chief's house, chatting animatedly. He cleaned everything up, fed the chickens and ducks, and went to his neighbor's house to play. The rain continued to pour down harder and harder, the water in the river rose to the edge of the bank. Dry firewood was carried along by the flood and floated on the water's surface. The wind blew in gusts. Never before had there been such a storm like this year. Water for daily use now depended on the jars that collected the rain.

The whole village was plunged into darkness. Nam tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The sound of insects and the roar of the stream disturbed the silence. Boom boom boom, boom boom… As he exhaled the smoke into the air, Nam heard loud explosions from the mountain. Rocks, soil, and trees followed the water flowing from the mountain into the village. In just a split second, wooden stilt houses and concrete houses were flattened by rocks and soil. Screams and cries for help echoed in the pitch-black night.

Everyone ran in all directions, not having time to bring anything with them. Some ran to a high hill to avoid the fire. Others ran straight to the next village to ask for shelter. When they calmed down, they started searching for victims with weak lights. The phone signal was also unstable. Mr. Tuan had to cut through the forest, run to a high hill, and stand there searching for a phone signal to call for help from the authorities.

The cries for help and the groans of the injured echoed throughout the mountains and forests. The villagers followed the cries to find people. A few trapped people were pulled out of the rubble by young men and given first aid. Strong young men placed the victims in hammocks and ran to the medical station more than ten kilometers away. The road had some landslides, the mud was knee-deep, and they had to move with difficulty. Everyone was exhausted, but they could not slow down.

***

That night, Mrs. Van felt hot and restless, tossing and turning in bed. Her motherly instincts made her think that something unfortunate had happened at home.

“Go home and see what's going on. I have a feeling something bad is going to happen,” she shook her husband awake.

“But it's so dark, how can we go home?” the husband sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Just feel your way, count each section as you go," Mrs. Van replied.

“But what happened?”

“I don’t know, I’m so impatient. Go home,” the wife urged her husband, grabbing the raincoat.

The two groped their way back to the village in the dark. They arrived just as dawn was breaking. Before their eyes was a pile of rubble. Rocks and trees from the mountains had flattened everything.

Mrs. Van ran back to where the crowd had gathered. People were trying to pull a body out of the mud. “What happened? Why did the house collapse?”, Mrs. Van asked.

“It happened last night, after a loud explosion while everyone was sleeping.”

“Nam is in an accident, he is buried somewhere, no one can find him,” someone in the crowd said loudly.

Her mind was spinning. Her husband ran from place to place but could not locate his house.

“Nam! Nam, where are you?”, the father shouted from the ruins. The call echoed off the mountain, but there was no answer.

Mrs. Van was like a lost soul. They wanted to find their child, but neither of them had been able to locate their house. The army and police were still diligently lifting up every sheet of corrugated iron and piece of wood to search for the person. A makeshift shelter had been set up, those with minor injuries were given first aid on the spot, those with serious injuries were still waiting to be carried to the infirmary in a hammock. Their eyes were vacant and exhausted. Since the village was founded, and for so many generations, there had never been such a scene of mourning.

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

“Calm down, Mom. We’re still searching. There are a lot of people buried,” a soldier comforted her, helping her up.

“Here it is, ma'am! Here it is!”, her husband stood on a large tree trunk, calling his wife.

“Where? Where is he? Where is Nam?”

“This is our house,” her husband's reply left her hopeless.

The Wave motorbike was buried, only the license plate was visible. That was the only clue for the father to determine the location of the house. The couple quickly turned over each sheet of metal and piece of wood to search. A few soldiers ran over to help. But after an hour of turning over everything, Mrs. Van and her husband still could not find their son.

Some bodies were found, the people hastily made a coffin with planks, placed it down, and buried it in the ground. Incense sticks were burning, smoke billowing. No offerings. No rituals. Cold. Below the hill, the authorities were still searching and rescuing victims. Mrs. Van kept walking back and forth around the land that was supposed to be her house. She turned over some logs, her eyes red, looking for her child.

Excavators and several more troops were added to the search. The sun was setting in the afternoon. Looking up the mountain from the village, a strip of earth was torn apart, hundreds of meters long. No one could recognize the gentle stream that had provided water for the villagers for generations. No one thought that one day that source of life would cause harm to the villagers. They had done nothing wrong to the mountains, the forests, or the stream.

The sky gradually darkened, the mountain mist descended, obscuring the landslide hill. The instant noodles were hastily mixed, some people chewed them raw, gathering some strength to search. Everything was still in disarray. A few more bodies were discovered, hastily buried. The dim moonlight and flashlights did not provide any light for the search. The forces were ordered to stop searching and evacuate to a safe place to rest.

Mrs. Van did not want to leave. She wanted to stay with her son, but the government did not allow it. They were afraid that the mountains and hills would be flooded and landslides would occur. After a campaign, Mrs. Van and the villagers agreed to evacuate. It was drizzling. The next morning, Mrs. Van and her husband moved into the village early. They continued to search for their son. Twelve people were still missing. No one knew where they were under the rubble and thick mud.

“My child! Where are you? Come back to me,” Mrs. Van held a bundle of incense and walked from one place to another, looking for her child. Everywhere she went, she stuck a few sticks in the ground, and the smoke rose.

The search went on for the third day. The armed forces dug from the ground, then rowed boats through the dense vegetation and firewood on the Rao Nam River, but there were no more results. The golden time for saving the life of the person seemed to have run out, everyone understood, now the only hope was to find the victim's body as soon as possible.

After several days, Mrs. Van's face became haggard and her hair gradually turned gray. Sometimes she was delirious and spoke incoherently. She did not believe that her child was dead even though every corner, every piece of soil, and every tree root had been turned upside down by the search team.

“Nam is there. Nam is Mrs. Van's son,” someone's voice rang out. Mrs. Van and the villagers ran out.

“It's Nam,” shouted village chief Tuan.

Mrs. Van saw her son and was so moved that she fainted without realizing it. When she woke up, she saw people carrying her son to the hut. Nam was sitting next to her, massaging him.

***

"Where have you been these past few days? Everyone is looking for you.", the village chief asked.

Nam said that he couldn't sleep that night, got up to light a cigarette and heard a loud explosion behind the mountain. He shouted for everyone to evacuate. But the shout was not as fast as the force of the rocks and trees that came rushing in. While shouting, he ran up a hill to avoid it. The rocks and soil pushed everything into the river. Nam saw a person struggling in the river, he jumped in to save them. When he hugged the victim and pulled him to the shore, a flood came and swept both of them away. Nam was swept downstream more than five kilometers from the village, and was saved by people living on both banks. People cooked him porridge to nourish him and took care of the wounds all over his body. The neighbor that Nam swam out to rescue was swept away, and the villagers there were nowhere to be found. Hearing that, he was speechless.

With his health stable, Nam asked everyone for permission to return home. The villagers sent someone to take him home on a motorbike. The road was eroded, and after a while, Nam said goodbye to the villagers and walked home. The mountain had collapsed, and the old land was no longer a safe place. The villagers were moved to a new resettlement area, in new houses made of solid concrete.

On his free days, Nam often went back to the old village to play. The stream's water was now clear, although it was no longer the same as before. The purple-flowered Lagerstroemia trees that had been knocked over by rocks and soil had recovered and were blooming purple flowers all over the area.

Nguyen Dac Thanh