A betel nut husk falls at night.

07:40, 27/08/2023

The night had settled into silence. The crescent moon had risen above the bamboo groves at the edge of the village. The night was misty and hazy. The incessant chirping of insects rose and fell with each rustling gust of wind. Suddenly, a blackbird barked loudly from the gable end.

From the next room, my mother stirred, coughed, and called out, "Come see what's going on, why is the dog barking so loudly?" Was it because of her old age that she couldn't sleep at night? I turned on the flashlight on my phone and quietly went outside. The dog was still barking loudly in the garden. It turned out that a fallen palm sheath had rustled, waking the little dog. The cool night air and the faint scent of the leaves also woke me up. I gazed at the sheath for a long time, lost in thought, feeling a mix of affection and nostalgia.

Back then, in my hometown, with spacious gardens, almost every house had a few betel nut trees with spreading fronds in front, following the folk feng shui belief of "banana trees behind, betel nut trees in front." The betel nut trees stood tall, their fronds rustling in the breeze. The betel nut flowers emitted a faint fragrance, their petals falling and scattering into the rainwater jars placed at the gable end. The clusters of betel nuts, laden with fruit, symbolized the wish for prosperity, unity, and affection for each family.

Illustration: Tra My

Back then, in my hometown, the ancient Vietnamese custom of chewing betel nut was still maintained by the women and mothers, with the meaning that a betel nut is the beginning of a conversation. The betel nut trees, which take up little space, serve many purposes and create a peaceful beauty for the countryside. For the children, childhood memories filled with emotions and sweet love always evoke fond recollections of betel nut husks.

In those days, country children played simple games that have become "folklore," eagerly anticipating picking up fallen betel nut husks. When the leaves turned yellow, the husks gradually separated from the trunk, and a gentle breeze would send them tumbling onto the brick courtyard, much to the children's excitement.

For some reason, looking at the sheath of a betel nut tree, I keep thinking and reflecting that betel nut sheaths, banana sheaths, bamboo sheaths... are like a mother's heart, spending her whole life nurturing, cherishing, and protecting her children until they grow up, only to one day wither and fall back to their roots. And in our folk beliefs, death is not the end. Just like the fallen betel nut sheath, it still brings people joyful memories.

It was a joyful childhood game: pulling palm fronds, as in the song "The Palm Foliage Puller" by musician Vinh Sử. On days when the palm fronds were large, thick, and had long stems, the game was truly enjoyable. One child would sit and the other would pull, taking turns wandering through every alley and lane of the village. They would play until the palm fronds were worn through from prolonged friction or until everyone was drenched in sweat.

My mother meticulously stripped the leaves from the palm fronds to make brooms for sweeping the house and yard. She cut the fronds, pressed them down with heavy objects, or straightened them by tucking them into bamboo mats to make palm frond fans. In the days before electricity, palm frond fans were indispensable in the summer. Grandma would gently fan the hammock as she swayed, accompanied by her lullabies on those hot summer afternoons. The palm frond fan stayed awake with my mother throughout the night; even when I woke up, I would still see her quietly fanning me to sleep. The palm frond fan is associated with the folk song of Bờm. Back then, I used to wonder why Bờm didn't take expensive things but only a handful of sticky rice? My father smiled and said I would understand when I grew up. Then I understood it was a folk fable; the prolonged bargaining eventually ended with a mutually agreeable deal. The wealthy man was cunning, but Bờm wasn't foolish. That's also the philosophy of life for the villagers: live practically, don't be blinded by possessions that aren't yours.

The palm leaf sheath was also an indispensable item in my mother's kitchen. Those were the days when my father sharpened his axe and machete to go into the forest to chop firewood; my mother would get up at dawn, diligently cook rice, prepare sesame salt, and then wrap it in the palm leaf sheath for my father to take with him. Those were the days of hard harvests in the countryside before mechanization. The fields were far away, the ox carts moved slowly, so we had to stay until noon to finish the work in time for the season. We eagerly waited with the adults until the sun was high in the sky, everyone took a break, gathered in the shade, and opened the palm leaf sheath to eat. Whether it was because of hunger, joy, or some other reason, the simple meal in the fields, though humble, was incredibly delicious.

Late at night, I went into the garden, saw a fallen palm sheath, and drifted into thought, the leaves returning to their roots in the cycle of life. I brought the sheath into the yard, my heart filled with nostalgia for not-so-distant memories...

Dinh Ha

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