Behind the loneliness

Illustration: HIEN TRI

At this moment, the moon was at eye level, the stars were quietly in their own sky, the light was not less sparkling because of the moon. Dong laughed painfully, if only people knew how to follow the laws of nature, to place themselves at their true value, then this would not be so bad.

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A decision flashed through his mind. Dong sat up and pulled out his computer to compose an email, stating that he would take a week off. While waiting for his boss to approve, he called to book a flight and took out a suitcase with a few necessities. Dong's wife was absent-minded, stirring something on the stove, her eyes were hazy like a boat drifting in the fog, wearing a coffee-colored muslin dress, her hair loosely tied up with a few loose strands falling at the nape of her neck.

It seemed that Dong's unusual presence during the week had no effect on her. I went on a business trip for a few days, but Dong spoke in a blank voice, without informing me or asking for permission from his wife like his colleagues.

Looking at his wife silently folding the laundry, her hands smoothing over each fold, her eyes absent-minded, Dong felt a sense of sympathy. Dong was not a heartless person. A writer like him could not be heartless to life, let alone his wife. But their marriage had long since reached the brink of collapse. They had no common voice, no common interests, and an overly large ego.

Having a son would have resolved the conflict, but Dong, a man who has almost everything a normal person desires, does not find happiness in his own home, except for the moments of playing with his child.

During major conflicts, Dong packed up and went to the office to sleep. Eventually, he got used to it. Dong craved the empty loneliness surrounded by four walls full of spider webs, with wilted potted plants waiting for his hand to water them. Days, months, and years passed, and Dong chose for himself a peaceful life.

The flight was delayed by a few hours, making Dong miserable, but it was okay, he still had plenty of time. Pulling out the newspaper to check the news, a habit from the first day he entered the office, and even in the digital age, when everything was encapsulated in a tiny phone, Dong still liked to read the paper newspaper as a way to respect his writing career.

The deaths caused by love conflicts make Dong shudder. Seeing his grown children with phones full of information makes Dong feel scared.

Dong's daughter is in puberty, has personality and is beautiful, studies well and is obedient. Her younger brother is a bit shy and is also the cause of many arguments between the couple. Dong, of course, wants to train his son to be a warrior who can brave the wind and the sun, wants to throw him into physical training to adapt to life.

His wife kept the child indoors, afraid of toxic gas, afraid of UV rays, afraid of everything. Seeing the child pale and weak, with clothes always clean, made Dong very angry.

Work took Dong away from the arguments. After work, Dong focused on writing, a joy that helped Dong relieve his stress. During the long days of lonely dedication on the page, Dong built characters that he both dreamed of and hated, both loved and resented.

He threw himself into life and death with his characters, who were exhausted by the ironies of life that he had created. Many times, Dong thought that writers, in the end, were just people who wanted to live, they gave themselves the right to live many lives in one life, even many lives in one work. It was truly a privilege given by God.

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After several bus stops, Dong finally arrived at his familiar hotel. After dinner, he wandered out to the street to listen to traditional music. Dong didn’t know when he had fallen in love with traditional melodies and love songs. He realized that artists not only sang with warm voices and passionate hearts, but also with eyes full of sadness. Dong felt himself melting away, floating, the lyrics like fluttering wings guiding him through the mazes of life and the ups and downs of fate.

The Grab car weaved its way through the garden and finally arrived at the lush green garden. Dong got out of the car and walked. The road was paved with a thin layer of asphalt, clean and shiny, on one side was a quiet canal with no sound of fish flapping their tails, the grass on the side of the road grew wildly, a few fragile wildflowers hid among the leaves, and a pair of butterflies fluttered suspiciously. Dong tried to open his eyes wide to find a patch of water chives, a type of seaweed that had suddenly become a specialty, but to no avail.

Dong loves that heavenly vegetable dish, washes it, rolls it in chopsticks, and dips it in chili-filled fish sauce. The sweet, crunchy, clean, spicy taste lingers with the nostalgia of the old days.

The host welcomed him like a close friend. Dong walked around a bit, stopping at the sink. The cool, rushing water seemed to give him more energy. Suddenly remembering the drought in the West, Dong was absent-minded for a moment.

The room was not much different from the last time Dong had been there; the clothes hangers were made of smooth peeled branches, the mats were made of soft and thick bamboo, bordered by colorful dyed bamboo fibers. Several lotus paintings lay quietly in the corners at eye level, the more you looked, the more fascinated you became, as if you were lost in some meditative place among the lotus, the scent spreading an enchanting area. Dong silently praised the skillful craftsmanship of the talented artist.

Under the pure white glass cups is a tray woven from water hyacinth stems, a tissue box, two pairs of slippers worn in the room lying humbly next to the wardrobe, looking very rustic, also meticulously woven from this type of plant that drifts year-round along the river branches.

In front of the room was a large lotus pot with a few blooming petals, the scent of the flowers was light and elegant. The lotus here had thin and wide petals, a graceful light pink color, unlike the lotus pot in Dong's house, which had short, thick petals, rough veins, a dark pink color, and was slightly bruised.

A pot of fragrant lotus tea was brought along with a plate of lotus seeds. Dong took a sip of tea, the lotus scent gently spreading through his throat and larynx. The bitter and acrid taste was fragrant, the sweet taste lingered on the tip of his tongue, his whole body felt relaxed and happy.

On a night on the river in the West, the moonlight falls silvery on the immense river, a few oars gently sway, the clear singing blends with the wind and clouds. A drinking party on a raft drifting in the middle of the river with dried fish, rice wine, water lilies, and sesbania...

Voices soar on spontaneous music, instruments are wooden chopsticks tapping on the edge of the bowl, the edge of the table. Eyes drunk on the moon, lips drunk on poetry and music. Nights are shimmering with moonlight. Life is shimmering with moonlight. Drinking friends, the ancients were also happy to the same extent!

In a moment of confusion, Dong suddenly remembered her. Also this riverside, also a night filled with moonlight, wine and music. She appeared in a dazzling white Western-style outfit. Her hair was tied high, revealing her proud neck with a few tangled strands of hair. She exuded confidence, modern style, and a charming way of speaking. Her intelligent forehead and bright eyes were plus points that made everything more perfect.

Dong couldn't remember what they said to each other, it seemed like both of them were crying. Damn, alcohol, sometimes it's a close friend, sometimes it's a traitor. But it doesn't matter, everyone has a deep corner in their heart, it's just a matter of how tactful.

The night was quiet, the lonely moonlight quietly left the small window, the wind stopped, making the leaves rustle. The sudden gust of wind woke Dong up, a cold, terrifying emptiness made him jump up.

Looking over to her room, the window was slightly open, a faint yellow light emitted from the lotus leaf-shaped night light. The guests had left yesterday afternoon, leaving only Dong and her with two parallel rooms along the grass path. The flower bushes were soaked in dew, shimmering in the moonlight. Dong walked around a few times, the sound of frogs croaking in harmony, a few disjointed sounds made the night fall. Dong returned to his room, drifting off into sleep.

Dong did not see her again that night. Or rather, he had to hurry back in the morning following an urgent telegram.

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Since being given an important position, it would not be right to say that he did not like it, because following a position has its benefits, but it also limits Dong a lot, especially in speaking and gathering with friends for drinks. The higher he rose, the lonelier Dong became.

The hidden feelings had nowhere to be expressed, the joys and sorrows had to be resolved by oneself. Many times, bored, Dong feared the solemn receptions with all the empty wishes, the cautious words measuring each other's feelings. He longed for the moonlit nights like those old days.

His wife still silently followed Dong's life. Thinking back, he felt so sorry for his wife, and also blamed himself for the great desire that kept struggling in the abyss. Why was it so difficult to be an ordinary person? This is a long poem about freedom, this is the desire to live life to the fullest...

Luckily, his wife had not asked to exchange these things for food and clothing. Dong felt that he was incompetent and sometimes confused. However, fortunately, he had managed to keep a family for his children. Dong put away the files, turned on the phone and called his wife, "Mom and son, get ready, dad will come back and take you out to eat..." his son's voice excitedly shouted. Dong laughed to himself, not knowing that the assistant at the next table was looking at him with a smile.

Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/phia-sau-co-don-3155009.html