1. Again. Mrs. Thinh snatched the egg from her sister's hand. Her index finger rubbed the smooth shell, as if she wanted to quickly incubate the ducks, then she broke it with a burning anger. No one was allowed to eat more than two eggs in a week. "There are still noodles left, and you want to expand them and slurp them up?" She gave a sharp glance, like a hook thrust into a fish's mouth.
Again. Mrs. Thinh tilted the broom handle. Fine dust was scattered all over the steps. Ants moved their feet to the mess on the floor. The horizontal and vertical lines were like a kind of marking. "It's not enough to sweep the house, and then it comes to this old woman." She gritted her teeth so that the sound could pass through the cracks in the rocks. The voices seemed to be broadcast in a pitch that exceeded her threshold. She suddenly felt it was harsh.
No, it must be that she felt like she was on the 18th floor. The frustrations after two years of being a daughter-in-law were like a room filled with stuffy old things that she couldn’t bear to throw away. The stagnant and stuffy atmosphere always made her tense. A kind of resistance. Not knowing where to start, when, the relationship between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law would come to a common point. Their eyes didn’t want to look at each other and the windows to their souls were also tightly closed with eyelashes like three locks. She squeezed the pot scrubber that was dripping with dishwashing liquid. Her hands were no longer smooth. Being a soldier’s wife meant a lot of hardships, she knew that in advance, but who would have thought it would be this hardship? The hardship of a daughter-in-law who didn’t get along with her mother-in-law. The hardship that needed to be shared but didn’t have a husband by her side. Two women without love rubbed against each other, sparks of anger flying. She suddenly felt tired, like she was out in the sun while carrying a twenty-kilo bag of rice.
The wind hit a few branches against the glass door. The cold air stopped before Mrs. Thinh's glare. So the wind only had the rustling sound of the banyan leaves. Mrs. Thinh was sweeping the trash out into the alley. The broom kicked up dust, dragging the pile of steel wool into the corner of the neighbor's house. There was the sound of the gate opening. It seemed like the house next door was also holding a broom. The rustling sound seemed angry. "Oh, caught you red-handed. Who let you sweep trash into my house, huh?". It was Mrs. Qua. Selling meat at the market and liking to sing karaoke, Mrs. Qua had a strong voice. She stopped her hand slightly, looking around. Mrs. Thinh also stopped her broom. She put her hands on her hips to create a support. Then she arched her chin: "The trash is swept out, why would you bring it into the house?" Then Mrs. Thinh quickly tossed the dust, hit the broom two or three times, then walked in. Mrs. Qua was stunned, then Mrs. Qua came to her senses. "Hey, you dare to do it but don't dare to admit it." The broom rustled again. The mumbled curses still echoed. Mrs. Thinh chose to ignore it.
She smacked her lips. Mrs. Thinh never seemed to want to go straight. She always had her own way of making people angry. Then she was so happy that she ate a few more bowls. She suddenly remembered Phong. The calm husband who always took her out every time he took her out. A guy in a soldier's uniform full of sacrifice. Could it be that bad bamboo turns into good bamboo? She looked out at the porch. The wind had strangely calmed down. The indefinite empty spaces in the unheated house became numb. She wanted to see Phong, but not because she missed him.
Then she sighed again. Her mother said that girls who sigh will suffer. But suffering sometimes does not start with a sigh. Since the day she married Phong and lived with Mrs. Thinh, has she ever been happy? She was like the potted plant that Phong brought home for Tet, still weak because it was not used to the climate, and Mrs. Thinh watered it even in the rain. People always have countless ways to make each other suffer. Thinking of a few things, a sigh came out of her nose again.
"Waiting for me to serve you food again?"
Again. Mrs. Thinh liked to use questions in the imperative form. She pursed her lips and cleared the table. Meals never started when she was hungry. She held her stomach until Mrs. Thinh was full and the dog in the house wanted sausage. She felt like she had lost her stomach in endless patience. Did Phong know? Phong knew, but he was like a piece of wood floating between two eroding banks. He was so foolish that he couldn't bear to make anyone sad. Phong was eager to go home, then reluctantly returned to the army. Did Phong love her? Phong loved her. But he also loved his mother who had raised him alone. He also loved the old dog that had guarded the house for many years. Love that made him unable to choose. Sometimes, in a fit of anger, she thought of his immense love. Was it because of fighting for love that Mrs. Thinh was unhappy with her like that? But what love was there to fight for? She didn't have much more.
Again. Mrs. Thinh sat in the hammock. The hammock creaked under her feet. She held her smartphone. She loved to scroll through the news after dinner. The loud sounds of voices and program music. Mrs. Thinh always turned up the volume when she was washing dishes. She gripped the scrubber tightly like always. She never thought she would hate someone so much that just hearing the sound would make her angry. But now she was starting to think about it. She didn’t even dare want a child, even though she loved her husband very much. She was afraid that he would grow up surrounded by the noise of arguments. Lately, she had even thought about leaving. Just waiting for Phong to come back.
Again. Mrs. Thinh grumbled and commented. But today she also slapped her thigh. The sound was sharp like swatting mosquitoes. Then she shouted loudly, "A storm is coming." She jumped. Dishwashing foam splashed on her dirty face. She continued, "Near me." Then there was a moment of silence. She looked out the window. The trees were so still that not even a breeze could shake the branches. She looked at the crack in the wall. The swarm of ants carrying eggs crawled in a creepy way. She looked back at the old dog. It was grunting and scratching the wooden chair with its claws. Then she looked back at the phone on the table. A wait, not knowing if there would be a tomorrow.
2. Night. The wind began to howl. The wind and rain were enough to make people's ears ring under the cold corrugated iron roof. Mrs. Thinh blocked the window, then lay in the hammock and looked out. She sat next to the old dog. She remembered the text message earlier. Phong would not return as promised. His shoulders were carrying a windy sky. The mobilization order was rushed during the night. The two words "Wait for me" suddenly weighed heavily on her chest. The divorce papers had been signed, neatly folded in the drawer. But he could not return. Every second dragged on the anxiety, and her legs and knees became tired from the uncertainty. She was afraid that in a few more days, the little determination she had just gathered would be blown away by the storm and far out to sea. But it was true, Phong could not return.
Again. She was awakened by the noise. It seemed like she hadn't slept all night. Her sleep was fitful because of some impatience that made her stomach burn. Mrs. Thinh was sweeping the yard. The wind and rain from the day before were like a tug of war. They had knocked down the old banyan trees, the traffic light poles, and the electric pole next to the cinema. Among the fallen trees, people had started walking. The puddles seemed to turn the streets into Venice in Italy, but not as beautiful. The water was full of mud, with slime flowing all over. A few corrugated iron roofs had fallen. Mrs. Qua was also raking the leaves in front of her house. The piles of leaves had been blown down by the storm, stuck to the road by the rainwater like plastic pipe glue, slimy and difficult to peel off. Mrs. Qua pursed her lips. Her leg, which had been twisted in the accident, was still limping. She seemed to be in pain. Look. She held her breath as she watched Mrs. Thinh holding a broom and approaching Mrs. Qua. Was she going to fight in a storm? Then she saw Mrs. Thinh put her hands on her hips to support herself, her chin curved in a familiar way. "With this, you can't even lift it up?". Saying that, Mrs. Thinh rubbed the broom on the floor, using force to open the patchwork of wet leaves. The leaves peeled off, following the broom handle swaying towards the trash can. Mrs. Qua stood there, mouth agape. Mrs. Qua was stunned again. A moment later, Mrs. Qua came to her senses. "Oh, you dare to do but dare not speak. Is it hard to help people?". Mrs. Qua nudged her shoulder. The broom also rubbed hard on the floor. Mrs. Thinh's mouth curled up, trying to hold back a few tears of laughter. For some reason, she suddenly became a little quiet.
Again. Mrs. Thinh had been ordering her around all day. But not for her. The neighborhood was bending over to clean up the mess after the storm. Only a few gusts of wind had blown in from the outskirts, but the place was still strangely desolate. She and Mrs. Thinh had just finished cleaning their house when they rushed to help their neighbors. The children were playing in the water on the porch, using broken branches to splash water for fun. The adults pushed the broken trees to the side, cleaning up the mess on the street. They also started to laugh and talk. After the storm, the fear of last night seemed to have been forgotten. Many people were bold, what super storm, wasn't it just a few fallen trees?
No, she shook her head inwardly, just a few trees. If it were that simple, Phong would have been able to reply to the message. He had been sent to fight the storm, right into the heavily damaged area. There had been no contact for almost a day. She suddenly wanted him to be like the wind outside, blowing her a few messages. She just wanted to know if he was okay, even though they were getting divorced. She didn’t know if they were getting divorced.
Again. Mrs. Thinh lay on the hammock. She held her phone in her hand, surfing the internet. She was busy washing the dishes. The sounds of life seemed to make people forget their hardships. But now Mrs. Thinh sounded strange. She was pensive and completely lacking in commentary. After a while, she just whispered, "How pitiful." Her voice was as sorrowful as Phong's when he saw his people suffering from hunger. Then she stood up. She heard her opening the cupboard in the room. The rustling sound was like opening a plastic bag with paper. After a while, she walked towards the kitchen.
"Here" - She held out a bundle of carefully wrapped money - "If you know how to transfer money, then transfer this much to the Central Government's flood relief fund". As if thinking of something, Mrs. Thinh raised her chin: "Don't eat and run!". She wiped her hands on her apron, received the money, some even, some odd. The old and new coins were intertwined, as if they had been saved from a long time ago. Mrs. Thinh saw her silent, and frowned: "Are you absent-minded again? Or are you feeling sorry? Don't forget your husband is a soldier". She quickly shook her head. A soft "yes" came from her lips. Mrs. Thinh reminded her a few sentences, then returned to the hammock. The phone was still broadcasting the flood and landslide situation. The children in the highlands could not return home...
3. Different. She squeezed the sponge. It had been five days since Phong had disappeared. The flood situation was still dire. But at least there should be some news. She had not thought about the divorce papers in the drawer. She only missed Phong.
Mrs. Thinh has also been pensive and less sarcastic lately. It must be a mother's instinct and intuition. She often sees her looking at her and then absent-mindedly. The look is full of complexity.
"Come eat." Mrs. Thinh called out loudly. There were fewer imperative questions. Different. Could it be that storms and floods made people live better together?
The sound of dishes and chopsticks clattering resounded. The house returned to the stifling, thick atmosphere. They seemed to have too much to say, but they seemed unable to say anything. Two years as one. She and the rice were unconscious. She thought of Phong again.
"Has he texted anything this week?" - Mrs. Thinh suddenly asked.
She shook her head slightly, "Not yet. The phone is out of coverage area." Then she put down her bowl of rice, her lips pressed tightly together.
Mrs. Thinh held back a sigh. But in her heavy breathing, she knew she was just as upset. "I saw the divorce papers in the closet. If he calls, don't say anything right away. Wait until he comes home safely. Do you understand what I mean?" Mrs. Thinh's voice sounded pleading.
She raised her head abruptly. Their eyes rarely met, and her eyelashes also opened. She stammered out two words, "Mom," then fell silent. The old dog was rubbing its head against her leg. It was time for its sausage. She gently stroked its head, then raised her face to look at Mrs. Thinh. Her voice was hoarse, but determined:
"I will wait for you to come home."
Source: https://thanhnien.vn/qua-bao-nhin-nhau-truyen-ngan-cua-thanh-truc-18524101421524377.htm
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