The dreary rain, coupled with Dung's hoarse voice, dragged the morning on endlessly, making Tý's neck feel stretched out, his eyes, his breath... everything seemed to lengthen.
- I'm getting impatient. Sing a different song.
- I don't know any other songs to sing.
Then stop singing.
Tý stepped over the hammock, angrily kicking the bag of kumquats. The kick was so light, the plastic bag rustled a little then fell silent. Dũng stopped singing, stopped watching, sulkily pulled the two sides of the hammock over his face, and sank into the water. The wind still rustled outside. The rain continued to drizzle. If he had listened to Tý, Dũng wouldn't have bothered to take the extra bags of kumquats. "With this relentless rain, who would want to go on vacation ?" Tý had repeatedly warned him before he left the house with the basket of fruit. But for some reason, as he passed the train station, Dũng was like a man possessed, running back to the market gate, hastily telling his mother, Hai, to leave all three bags of kumquats for him. His mother, Hai, stared without blinking. "Damn you, who would buy them in this rain and wind?" "Just leave me alone, Mom." He was afraid his mother would get angry and sell some, so he threw back two bills as a deposit and ran into the crowd ahead.
- You're calling for frogs, huh? Here are some young frogs, I just peeled them. Here's the salt and chili, ma'am, just relax and I'll pour it into a bag for you.
Meeting a large and friendly group of tourists, the basket of toadstools sold out in a flash. After Tet, many people flocked to Hue . With plenty of time and the lingering scent of spring, they went wherever they pleased, without a second thought about Hue's occasional rain. And even if it did rain, it was just a light drizzle, a quick shower before it stopped. Who would have thought the storm would come so early, sweeping across Central Vietnam, and Hue couldn't escape it? Having made plans, they set off. Hue, along with the tourists, rushed to escape the rain. It was a rush, a hurried rush. Tourists also rushed along with Hue. They ate quickly, walked quickly, and spoke quickly. Normally, Dung would spend the whole day selling his basket of toadstools, but he sold them all in a single morning. "What a relief!" Dung casually picked up his basket, happily turning right and left, then suddenly dashed straight to Hue train station.
There were no promises made at Hue train station now, only a fond memory that Dũng was trapped in. Those kind, friendly faces—he met them, they chatted and laughed, then quickly parted ways. And so, with each train passing through Hue, Dũng longed to linger. The longing ached in his chest. Would that train stop in Vinh to pick up passengers? Would anyone from Ha Nam be on the same train? Would he recognize any of his acquaintances in those carriages reeking of people and engine oil? Would they still remember him after returning to the North? The yearning surged every time he heard the hurried whistle of the train entering the station. Each time, the whistle transported Dũng back to that bustling realm of memories, to the corner of the shop where ripe, red kumquats lay curled up on the ground. It was the day several soldiers from the North came to Hue for training; Dũng had struck up a conversation with them. Without even asking, Dũng knew they were in Hue for work. Because tourists in Hue usually don't choose hotels near the train station. Most of those hotels were old, dilapidated, some in terrible condition. They went further into the city center to choose nicer hotels with beautiful views and convenient access to sightseeing. Guests staying near the train station were mostly people stranded, waiting for trains, or on business trips. The hotels were purely for sleeping and resting. The group sitting and drinking tea in front of Hue train station was quite unusual. What kind of business trip was it with all those easels, paint boxes, and everything else? "They're probably artists on a field trip to create something," Dung thought to himself, then approached them to strike up a conversation, hoping to sell off his merchandise and get home early.
- You'll have to wait a long time for the train. The loudspeaker just announced that the train is delayed.
Dũng placed the basket of kumquats on the ground, sat down right next to them, his eyes fixed curiously on the torn-up, ruined drawing papers. The green and red kumquats were a cheerful sight.
- Are you guys just going to throw it away?
Dung's eyes were filled with regret. One of the group spoke to him, his voice a familiar, familiar Nghe An accent.
- Well, it's all broken. Are you planning to pick them up and use them for kindling?
- No, I just wanted to open it and take a look. The kumquats are so beautiful. You're such a talented artist. They're so pretty, why did you throw them away?
- Because I wanted it to look better. Do you like drawing, Ku?
"Yes, I like it very much. I can draw too. I have drawing supplies at my rented room, but... they're just rubbish," Dung said hesitantly.
- If you like to draw, just draw; it's not nonsense.
The conversation was lively. The people from the North listened intently to every word, then looked at the painter in surprise. "Normally you speak with such a sweet Northern accent, why does it sound so distinctly Nghe An now?" The painter had no choice but to slowly transcribe his Nghe An accent into the Northern one for them to understand. Strangely, some of the people from Nghe An could also speak with a Northern accent, though not as smooth, but it sounded quite pleasant.
- Your teeth speak with such a Northern accent!
- Well, I've been in the North for over 10 years. After finishing high school, I joined the army. After joining the army, I stayed in the North. I work and live there.
- Even if I went to the North for 10 years or more, I still wouldn't be able to speak like you, Uncle. The Northern accent sounds lovely, doesn't it? Everyone says my accent is hard to understand. That's just how Central Vietnam is, we're all so rigid.
With no distance, no estrangement, no beginning, no end, the old painter and the child they had just met at the train station chattered away. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, the painter glanced at his watch and made a hasty suggestion.
- Uncle, could you draw a picture for Dung, a quick sketch, okay?
- Oh, that's wonderful! I'm so happy. Now, how should I sit? Is this okay, Uncle?... Oh my God, I'm so nervous. A while ago, a tourist group visited Hue, and someone there painted me. He said he lived abroad and came to Hue for tourism at the invitation of the city government. He finished painting and then left. Several times while walking past the city's children's center selling fruit, I saw the painting there. Suddenly, I didn't feel any excitement anymore. It was still my face, but it looked so strange. And when I was posing, I wasn't as nervous as I am now!
Dũng's joy was undeniable, evident in his sparkling smile. The kind, quiet artist remembered all his rambling, incessant chatter. "Now, be still so I can draw. The train is about to depart." Dũng stopped fidgeting, momentarily lost in thought. The hastily drawn sketch captured Dũng perfectly. His unmistakable, playful figure was instantly recognizable. The artist handed the drawing to Dũng, chuckling playfully. "Only your dark complexion isn't the most distinctive feature; I'll redraw it another time." Tears welled up in Dũng's eyes, and the artist quickly turned away. The train whistle blew a long, urgent blast. The passengers busily packed their luggage, and the artist hurriedly put away his drawing board. "We have to board now. When we return to Hue, we'll find you again; we'll definitely meet again." Dũng clutched the drawing, standing motionless. The feeling of separation overwhelmed him; if he didn't restrain himself, he would burst into tears. The train whistle blew a second time, just one more time before departure. Suddenly remembering the bag of kumquats beside him, Dung hurried through the ticket gate. "Excuse me, ma'am, could you let me through? A passenger left their luggage behind." Without waiting for the ticket inspector to grab his shirt, Dung crossed the barrier and jumped onto the train. "Take these to eat along the way." The train whistled a third time and slowly rolled away. Dung had just managed to jump off, silently watching the train disappear into the night.
Dũng often passed by Hue train station even when he had no reason to. The empty basket felt light, yet Dũng's heart was heavy. How wonderful it would be to meet them again. This time, he wouldn't linger selling goods; he would invite them to his home, tell them much about his Hue, invite them to eat cotton candy in front of the children's center, or go to the hut to listen to singing. Whatever they wanted, Dũng would do. Back then, whenever he heard news of the war on the southwestern border, Dũng would eagerly follow it. He wondered if the North Vietnamese soldiers had stopped in Hue? Soldiers going south always had to pass through Hue. If only he were old enough, he would enlist and somehow manage to meet them. But Dũng was small and underage; he lacked the strength to fight in the trenches. Not to mention his unclear background. Dũng, like the other homeless children huddled in the slum near the wholesale market, lived mainly on the money he earned selling fruit. But Dũng remembered Uncle Khôi. Was Uncle Khoi the soldier like any other soldier, or was he the warm, friendly artist Uncle Khoi? Dung had no one to remember. He didn't know who his parents were, where they were, or if they were still alive. Dung grew up in an orphanage. After the orphanage was bombed, he wandered aimlessly. He no longer felt any longing. But after their conversation at Hue train station that night, the desire to see Uncle Khoi again lingered in his heart. This longing led Dung to Hue train station many times.
Those days, news of the war intensified, trains to Hue increased their frequency, and soldiers boarded and disembarked in constant numbers. Farewells were poignant and heart-wrenching. Many times, Dung strained his eyes, peering through the metal windows of the train carriages, searching for a familiar face, but to no avail. In response, he was met by other eyes, silently searching as well. This alternating search continued, wondering when they would ever meet again. Trains rushed into the station, coldly arriving and departing, leaving behind a sense of longing on the platform. Many times Dung had given up hope, but the lingering feeling of waiting urged him on. So, Dung went to Hue station again.
That time, fate smiled upon Dung. By chance, Dung saw Uncle Khoi at the train station. It was Uncle Khoi! Who was he looking for so frantically? Did he see Dung here? Did he know how many years Dung had been searching for him? Dung shouted, then frantically searched for the train gate.
- Uncle Khoi, Uncle Khoi...
The train carriage was crowded with people and goods, making it chaotic and difficult to move around. Dung squeezed through piles of luggage and rows of people standing, lying, and sitting. The green of military uniforms dominated most of the carriage. The soldiers were chattering loudly.
- Who is that, Khoi? Is it a family member?
- Or maybe it's another illegitimate child, another one lost...
- If your brother is coming along, he can squeeze in too…
Uncle Khoi, Dung's uncle, paid no attention to his teammates' jokes; his eyes were red and swollen. He hugged Dung tightly, a tight embrace that wouldn't let go.
- Let me introduce you to Dung, my family member.
...
- Dung, what are you selling today? Peanuts? Toads? And kumquats too? Come on everyone, buy some, buy everything!
...
- Oh, where are those packets of dried rations? Which bag was it? Ah, here it is. Does anyone have any more dried rations? Give me some, please. Here, Dung. Take them all. Eat them gradually...
...
- Come on, get down, son, get down. The train is blowing its whistle. Take care of yourself, and then I'll come back to Hue.
Dũng didn't cry; he swallowed back the tears that were about to come, choking back his sobs.
- Have a safe journey, gentlemen. This is all I have. Please keep it for yourselves. I have to go down now. I have to go down.
The crowd fell silent, watching Dung and Uncle Khoi's tearful farewell. No one was crying, only awkward, suppressed sobs. The noise subsided. Tears were held back. Uncle Khoi watched Dung board the train. The train went far away. Dung's figure gradually faded on the platform. Uncle Khoi could no longer see Dung, only Dung's choked sobs remained. "Uncle Khoi, it's Dung, Dung missed you so much."
The storm had moved out to sea, leaving only a swirling low-pressure system. Rain was a specialty of Hue, something people were used to. Only Dung lingered, reluctant to part with the northward rains, the thunder and lightning always rumbling in his heart. Where was Uncle Khoi now? Did Uncle Khoi still remember Dung? The war had long since ended. Dung was no longer a child. Dung didn't know his exact age. With so many years, he must have grown older. Dung had become a veteran at this corner of the wholesale market. So many seasons of vibrant green and red kumquats had passed, and lately the weather had been even more extreme, the kumquats ripening whenever they pleased, as if mocking him. No one was like Dung, waiting so long that it had become a habit.
Someone in the market mentioned that Dung had a letter, and it had been three or four weeks before they suddenly remembered. People in the market were used to dealing with things, but they never read. Besides, the envelope didn't specify which Dung it was. It only said "Dung, an artist who sells kumquats." Good heavens, nobody knew Dung was an artist. The paintbrushes and canvases in his rented room were covered in dust, the paints had dried up. No one knew Dung sold kumquats. Dung sold many things now, whatever was in season. For a while, he even worked picking coconuts for hire; he sold coconuts too. Kumquats were just a beautiful memory for Dung. With that envelope, how could it possibly reach the recipient? Maybe someone else named Dung received it, or maybe it was lying dormant somewhere among the stalls in the wholesale market. "Oh well. Why bother hoping?" But subconsciously, Dung kept hoping it was a letter from Uncle Khoi. Perhaps the letter contained a drawing of ripe, red kumquats, or perhaps a portrait of Dung from their next hurried meeting. Perhaps it was good news, perhaps it was bad news. Waiting had become a habit; Dung no longer lived in apprehension. Whatever the case, the vibrant red kumquats remained vividly present in Dung's thoughts.
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