Ripe red kumquat

The rain was already sad and lingering, and Dung's hoarse voice made the morning seem even longer. Ty's neck also seemed to have lengthened, his eyes, his breath... everything was very long.

- Impatient. Sing another song.

- Know any song to sing.

- Then stop singing.

Ty stepped over the hammock, angrily kicked the bag of kumquats. The kick was light, the plastic bag rustled a bit and then fell silent. Dung stopped singing, stopped looking, sulkily pulled the two flaps of the hammock over his face, and let himself sink down. The wind was still rustling outside. The rain was drizzling. If he had listened to Ty, Dung would not have bothered to drag out a few more bags of kumquats. "With such relentless rain, who would want to go on vacation to sell?" Before carrying the basket of fruit out of the house, Ty had told him over and over again. But for some reason, when passing the train station, Dung was like a lost soul, running back to the market gate, hastily telling his mother to leave all three bags of kumquats for him. His mother looked at him with a toothless face without blinking. "Damn it, who would want to sell them to in this rain and wind?" "Just leave me alone." He was afraid that his mother would get angry and sell some, so he threw back the two deposit notes and ran into the crowd in front.

- You called me a toad. Here's a young toad, I just peeled it. Here's some salt and pepper, I'll pour it into a bag for you.

Met a large group of visitors, and was very generous, the basket of green plums was sold out. After Tet, many people flocked to Hue. Time was plentiful, the sky and earth were still in spring, whenever they felt like it, they didn't have time to think about the rains in Hue. And when it rained, it was just a little rain that made them fuss, then it stopped. Who would have thought that the storm would come early, running along the Central region, Hue couldn't avoid it. Having made a plan, they went. Hue had a chance to run away from the rain with people. Rushing, rushing. Tourists also rushed with Hue. They ate in a hurry, walked in a hurry, and talked in a hurry. Normally, Dung had to sell the basket of green plums all day, but now he was able to sell them all in the morning. "I felt so relieved". Dung carried the basket leisurely, happily turned right and left, then suddenly headed straight to Hue train station.

There is no appointment at Hue station now, Dung is just stuck there, a happy memory. Those friendly, kind faces, met, familiar, laughing and then hastily saying goodbye. And then every time the train passes Hue, Dung wants to hold on. The nostalgia keeps throbbing in his chest. Did that train stop in Vinh to pick up passengers, was there anyone from Ha Nam on the same trip, were there any acquaintances of Dung on those train cars that reeked of people and engine oil, did those people who went to the North still remember him? The longing keeps coming every time he hears the train whistle rushing into the station. Every time, the train whistle pushes Dung back to that bustling memory, where in the corner of the shop there are red, ripe kumquats, curled up on the ground. It was the day when some soldiers from the North came to Hue to study, Dung approached them to get acquainted. Without asking, Dung also knows that they came to Hue for work. Because tourists to Hue usually do not choose hotels near the station. Most of them were old-fashioned hotels, some of them were even in disrepair. They went further into the city to choose a nice hotel, "viu" beautiful, and convenient for sightseeing. The guests staying near the station were mainly those who missed the train, were waiting for the train, or were on business trips in groups. The hotel was just for sleeping. This group of people sitting and drinking tea in front of Hue station was quite special. What kind of business trip was it, with all the easels, paint boxes, and other things. "Maybe they are artists on a field trip to create works of art." Dung thought to himself and approached them to get acquainted, the main purpose was to sell all their goods and go home early.

- You guys still have to wait for the train for a long time. The loudspeaker just announced that the train is late.

Dung put the basket of kumquats on the ground, sat down next to them, his curious eyes glued to the torn up papers. The green and red kumquats were pleasing to the eye.

- You guys throw it away?

Dung's eyes were full of regret. A person in the group spoke with a familiar Nghe An accent.

- Um, it's ruined. Are you going to pick it up to use as a fire starter?

- No, I just want to open it and see. The kumquats are so beautiful. You draw so well. They're so beautiful, why are you throwing them away?

- Because I want to be more beautiful. Do you like drawing?

- Yes, I like it very much. I can draw too. I have drawing materials at my boarding house but… they are useless - Dung's voice faltered.

- Just draw if you like, no nonsense.

The conversation was lively. The Northerners stared at each word, listening to it, and looked at the artist in surprise. "You usually speak in a sweet Northern accent, why are you speaking in a heavy Nghe accent now?" The artist had to slowly translate each Nghe word into a Northern accent for them to understand. Strangely, some Nghe people could also speak in a Northern accent, although not very smooth, it sounded very pleasant to the ear.

- Why do you speak with a Northern accent so well?

- The story is, I've been in the North for more than 10 years. After finishing high school, I joined the army. After joining the army, I stayed in the North. Worked and lived there.

- Even if I go to the North for 10 years or more, I still won't be able to speak like you. The Northern accent sounds cute, uncle. Everyone says my accent is hard to hear. In the Central region, it's always the same, uncle.

There was no distance, no strangeness, no beginning, no end, the old painter and the child he had just met on the train platform kept chattering away. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, the painter looked at his watch and made a very hasty suggestion.

- Can you draw a picture for Dung? A quick sketch, okay?

- Oh, then there's nothing better. I'm so happy. Now I have to sit down, can I sit down now, uncle... Oh my god, I'm so nervous. A while ago, a group of tourists visited Hue, and someone also drew me. He said he was settling abroad. He came to Hue for a tour at the invitation of the city government. After he finished drawing, he left. Several times I passed by the city's children's house selling fruit, and I saw the picture there. Suddenly, I wasn't interested anymore. It was still my face, but it was so strange. And when I sat as a model, I wasn't as nervous as I am now!

The joy that could not be hidden was clearly visible in Dung's sparkling smile. The gentle artist, silent but remembered all that chatter and chatter. "Come on, let me draw. The train is almost time to leave." Dung stopped squirming, absent-minded for a moment. The hasty sketch was very much like Dung. The graceful figure was unmistakable. The artist handed the drawing to Dung, smiling and joking. "Only the dark skin is the main identifying mark that has not been fully captured, I will draw it again when I have the chance." Dung's eyes filled with tears, the artist quickly turned away. The train whistle blew a long note urging him. The group of guests hurriedly packed their luggage, the artist also hurriedly arranged his drawing board. "We have to get on the train now. When we have the chance to return to Hue, we will look for you again, we will definitely meet again." Dung held the drawing tightly and stood motionless. The feeling of separation rushed up so violently, if he did not control himself, he would burst into tears. The train whistle blew a second time, just one more time and the train would start moving. Suddenly remembering the bag of kumquats next to him, Dung quickly ran through the ticket gate. "Ma'am, let me pass. The passenger forgot his luggage on the train." Not giving the ticket gate lady time to grab his shirt, Dung crossed the barrier and jumped onto the train. "You guys take it along to eat on the way." The train blew a third time and slowly started moving. Dung just jumped off in time, silently watching the train go into the night.

Dung still often passed by Hue station even when he had no business there. The empty basket was light but Dung felt heavy in his heart. If only he could meet them again. This time, he would not linger around selling goods, Dung would invite the uncles to his house, would introduce a lot about Dung's Hue, would invite the uncles to eat cotton candy in front of the children's house or go to the hut to listen to singing. Whatever the uncles liked, Dung would do it. Back then, when he heard news about the war at the southwestern border, Dung would wait. He wondered if the Northern army would stop in Hue? The army going to the South would definitely have to go through Hue. If he were old enough, Dung would ask to join the army, he would meet them no matter how he wandered around. But Dung was small and underage, so how could he have the energy to roll around in the trenches. Not to mention that he was of unknown origin. Dung was like the homeless children who gathered in the boarding house near this wholesale market, living mainly on the money from selling fruit. But Dung missed Uncle Khoi. Whether it was Uncle Khoi, a soldier like any other soldier, or Uncle Khoi, a warm and friendly painter, Dung had no one to remember. Dung did not know who his parents were, where they were, whether they were still alive or dead. Dung grew up in an orphanage. After the orphanage was destroyed by a bomb, Dung wandered. Dung no longer felt any longing. But after the night of conversation at Hue station, the feeling of wanting to see Uncle Khoi again was always present in his heart. The feeling of longing took Dung through Hue station many times.

In those days, the news of the war was getting hotter and hotter, the trains to Hue kept increasing their trips, and soldiers were getting on and off busily. The farewells were lingering and painful. Many times Dung strained his eyes to look through the iron squares of the train cars, searching for familiar faces but could not find them. Responding to Dung were other eyes, also silently searching. The searches kept on alternating, not knowing when they would meet again. The trains kept rushing into the station, coming and going coldly, leaving behind their feelings on the platform. Many times Dung gave up hope, but the mood of waiting still smoldered and urged him. Dung went to Hue station again.

That time, God had mercy on Dung. At the train station, Dung happened to see Uncle Khoi. It was Uncle Khoi. Who were you looking for? Did you see Dung here? Did you know how many years Dung had been looking for you? Dung shouted and frantically searched for the train door.

- Uncle Khoi, Uncle Khoi...

The train was packed with people and goods, making it difficult to move around. Dung squeezed through piles of luggage, through rows of people walking, standing, sitting, and lying down. The green uniforms of the soldiers took up most of the train. The men chattered.

- Who is that Khoi, family?

- Or I fell, I fell…

- If you are coming with me, please come along...

Dung's uncle Khoi didn't pay any attention to his teammates' jokes, his eyes were red. He hugged Dung tightly.

- Let me introduce to you, this is Dung, my relative.

...

- Dung, what are you selling today? Peanuts, green mangoes, and kumquats too. Come on, everyone, buy some, buy them all.

...

- Oh, where are the packages of rations? Which bag? Oh, here it is. Does anyone have any more rations? Give them to me, give them to me. Here, Dung. Take them all. Take them all and eat them gradually...

...

- Come on, come on. The train's whistle is blowing. Take care of yourself, and I'll go back to Hue.

Dung did not cry, but swallowed back the tears that came out, choking.

- You guys have a good trip. I only have this much. Please leave it for me. I have to go down. I have to go down.

The crowd stopped making noise and looked at Dung and Uncle Khoi with lingering affection. No one was crying, only awkwardly concealed sobs. The noise stopped. The tears were held back. Uncle Khoi watched Dung's figure get off the train. The train was far away. Dung's figure gradually became smaller on the platform. Uncle Khoi could no longer see Dung, only Dung's sobs remained. "Uncle Khoi, it's Dung, Dung misses you so much."

The storm has run out to sea, only the low pressure remains. Rain is a specialty of Hue, people are used to it. Only Dung is still lingering with the rains from the North, thunder and lightning always rumbling in his heart. Where is Uncle Khoi now? Does Uncle Khoi still remember Dung? The war has been quiet for a long time. Dung is no longer a child. Dung does not know exactly his age. The years are so long, he must have grown older. Dung has become a veteran at this corner of the wholesale market. Many seasons of green and red kumquats have passed, recently the weather is even more extreme, the kumquats just ripen as if teasing. No one is like Dung, waiting forever until it becomes a habit.

Someone in the market called Dung and said he had a letter, but it had been three or four weeks since he had remembered. People in the market were used to it and never read words. On top of that, the envelope didn't clearly say Dung. It only said "Dung, a painter who sells kumquats". Oh my god, who knew Dung was a painter? The brushes and drawing boards in the rented room were covered in dust, and the paint had dried up. People didn't even know Dung sold kumquats. Dung now sells many things, each season has its own products. There was a time when Dung even picked coconuts for hire, Dung also sold coconuts. Kumquats are a beautiful memory of Dung's own. How could the envelope have reached him? Maybe someone else named Dung had received it, or maybe it was lying quietly somewhere in the stalls of the wholesale market. "Never mind. Why bother hoping?" But unconsciously, Dung kept hoping that it was a letter from Uncle Khoi. Who knows, maybe in that letter was a drawing of a red-ripe kumquat tree, or maybe it was a portrait of Dung from the last hurried meeting. Who knows, maybe it was good news, who knows, maybe it was bad news. Waiting had become a habit, Dung no longer lived with anxiety. No matter what, the red-ripe kumquat tree was still bright red in Dung's thoughts.

Source link: https://thanhnien.vn/quat-hong-bi-chin-do-truyen-ngan-cua-nguyen-hong-185240330181103182.htm