After the war

On a deserted mountain pass, the sun bathed the hills, and a soldier trudged along. He heard a song echoing in the wind: “Though my feet are weary from the journey, I still press on, asking myself why…” He told himself, “Perhaps I’ve walked too much, my sandals worn, my shirt tattered, and that’s why I’m humming like that, but no one’s singing.” But when he reached the banyan tree at the top of the slope, the song became clearer. He circled around behind the overgrown roots and saw a man singing while adjusting the straps of his rubber sandals. Looking up and seeing him, the man seemed to have struck gold.

Illustration: Phan Nhan

- He's a soldier, he's really a soldier. He can't go.

A heartwarming saying he heard on peacetime : "No longer having to carry a rifle on my shoulder, meeting my compatriots means being greeted with smiles," yet why did this man need him so much?

Are you Vinh?

He shook his head and smiled. A smile from lips that were purple from bouts of jungle malaria. As if to soothe the disappointed look in the other person's eyes, he said softly:

- Every liberation soldier is a son of the people. I'm not a soldier from Vinh, but is there anything I can do to help you?

- Yet every day I would go to the banyan tree and wait. The old woman said that if I waited too long, I should sing that song. If Vinh heard it on his way home, he would come and find me.

Why don't you go to the district military office or ask the authorities for help?

He sat down on a large tree root and began to tell his story:

In the village lived an old woman named Tư, whose eyesight was failing. Her husband had died in the resistance against the French. She remained a widow, raising her son, Vĩnh. At 17, when news of the battlefield arrived, it felt like fire was burning in his veins. He secretly went to the district town to enlist and never returned. The death notice reached her a few months after Vĩnh enlisted. Old Mrs. Tư didn't believe it; she said it was just a mistake. Perhaps the shock and her illness had weakened her, and her eyesight had deteriorated. She heard with her ears and "saw" with her own senses.

- That's the story. My name is Mat, and I'm not related to you at all. I was orphaned at a young age and wandered around the district market. Luckily, the old lady took me in while she was at the market, so I consider her like my mother.

- Old Mr. Tư has been very weak lately. Perhaps you could visit him to reassure him that Mr. Vĩnh has returned.

The soldier took off his backpack and quietly sat down beside Mật.

- You were also a militiaman, weren't you? You also participated in the anti-aircraft gun crew...

Yes, in war, even women knew how to hold a gun and fight.

- You and I, like all the other soldiers, are sons of Uncle Tư. The country is strong because it has such great mothers.

Urgent request:

- Ever since liberation, the song "The Country is Filled with Joy" broadcast on the radio has kept him awake all night.

The soldier ran his hand through his hair, which was covered in dust from the long journey.

- My name is The Soldier. How should I put it? The task you're asking isn't difficult, but I'm also dealing with my own personal troubles.

After saying that, the soldier took a small doll out of his backpack. "I bought it in Saigon. When I boarded the train heading north, I found out it was lost in the collapsed bomb shelter. I don't know where I'm going now." "How old is your daughter this year? I mean, if she were still alive…"

- I'm turning five, I'll soon be going to school. Is it far from our village to the school?

- It's very far, beyond those two mountain ranges. Very few people here are literate. If there hadn't been a war, Vinh would probably be a teacher by now.

*

They parted ways under the banyan tree. The early summer sun was scorching, and cicadas chirped loudly beneath the trees. They walked in opposite directions along the winding hillside path. Mật had never ventured beyond the town in his life. The soldier's feet had traversed countless campaign routes. Their backs were turned, but their hearts were drawn to a shared, private sorrow. Their hearts beat in sync with the rhythm of a new day.

Suddenly, Mật came across a stream flowing down the hillside, its water clear and cool. As usual, he plucked a leaf to cup and drink from. Remembering the soldier's words, he held out the cup the soldier had just given him: "If possible, please don't pluck even a single leaf; even the plants and trees have suffered too much after the war."

After drinking a glass of spring water, Mật's mind cleared. He examined the cup. How interesting! It was made from an M72 LAW anti-tank rocket launcher. Peace-loving people always know how to turn bombs and ammunition used by soldiers into tools for revival. The metal casing of the weapon, which held spring water, had preserved a leaf today. So, there was a way to alleviate this pain. Mật quickly grabbed the cup and ran towards the soldier.

Further along the road, the soldier changed his mind. He asked a beekeeper for directions and learned of a shortcut to the mountain village. That afternoon, the sun seemed reluctant to set behind the mountain slope. The leaves shimmered with a strange color.

A small dot began to appear in the afternoon light. The dot gradually revealed a tall, thin, yet sturdy figure. A soldier, slung over his backpack, walked along, seemingly looking for someone to ask for directions. The soldier arrived. He entered the first house in the village, took off his backpack, and politely greeted the homeowner: "Excuse me, ma'am, could you tell me if there's a child named Thảo in this village?" The woman, who was winnowing rice, stopped, looked at him in surprise, and shook her head. He was about to leave when she offered him a bowl of green tea. After taking a sip, he bowed and continued on his way.

The second house he visited, his face showing even more weariness, asked, "Hello, sir, do you know if there's a girl named Lan in our neighborhood?" The old man, repairing a broken table leg, his white beard as silent as a feather, looked into his eyes and spoke:

- Unfortunately, no. Whose house are you looking for?

He responded with a smile. He went to the third house; the door was locked, but upon closer inspection, he saw a child trapped behind a wooden window frame. He called out:

Little girl, are your parents away?

- Yes, how did you know?

- When we were evacuated, I was just like you. We were locked inside, but I actually enjoyed it. When our legs were confined, our minds were free to wander, full of ideas.

"And what do you do while Mom and Dad are still home?" the little girl quickly asked.

- He has a pencil as his companion. He draws everything he believes is real.

- What do you believe, uncle?

- I believe the war will end. Children everywhere are playing and having fun. But what's your name?

- Yes, my name is Hoa. My father said that flower belongs to the earth and sky. Do you like that name, sir?

- That's right, here's your gift. I traveled a long way to find you.

Hoa received the gift in astonishment. Instinctively, she looked at the soldier with hopeful, wide eyes.

- Uncle, could you draw a picture for me?

- Yes, but with one condition.

What are the conditions, uncle?

- The condition is simple: Uncle will write another poem under the picture. You'll have to go to school to be able to read it.

Little Hoa giggled, showing off her missing teeth. Her smile revived his heart. How many little girls like her are there in the country, needing dolls, pretty blackboards, chalk, pencils, and thatched-roof schools filled with the sounds of children studying?

Mật stood frozen behind him, and he just stood there, forgetting to open the door for his daughter. He clutched the soldier's hand tightly, as if afraid of losing something precious.

- What did you do before enlisting?

The soldier looked directly into Mật's eyes.

- Once the war is over, I'll continue my unfinished work. I forgot to tell you, I'm a teacher. Hearing this, Mật suddenly remembered:

- I forgot to ask, what's your name?

The soldier, visibly moved and with teary eyes, replied:

You can just call me Vinh.

After saying that, the soldier followed Hoa towards Mrs. Tu's house. Mat ran after them, stumbling along, as if he'd misheard—no, he'd never misheard. Every soldier carried that same heart, ready to help the people heal the pain and loss after the war. Green shoots would sprout from the broken branches, spreading happiness throughout life…

Source: https://baolamdong.vn/van-hoa-nghe-thuat/202504/sau-chien-tranh-6e3058c/