Deep sunset

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I told my mother, "I wish I were still a little kid now, sitting in a boat while you rowed me along the Cai River at sunset, just like in the old days. That would be wonderful." My mother laughed after a bout of coughing. She sat down and lit mosquito repellent incense. Mosquitoes have always been a "specialty" of this land, clinging to this soil and buzzing in the quiet country nights.

(AI)

- Yes! I really liked it. But that was in the past. Now, my mother's legs tremble so much, how could she possibly row a boat anymore?

I chuckled, looking at my mother. Time had taken away her youthful beauty, leaving her with a thin figure, a face full of wrinkles, and long coughing fits in the early morning hours.

I swallowed my tears.

- Wow, Mom's strange. She's surprisingly healthy. She's no different than she used to be!

My mother cleared her throat to suppress a cough. She looked out the window. In the distance, the Cai River shimmered, reflecting the color of the sky. That scene, that person, that feeling… revived in me the image of a very distant afternoon. A fiery red afternoon.

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This Cai River has nurtured me since time immemorial. It flows through villages and hamlets, branching off into canals and waterways, then flowing towards the town and finally out to sea. Even now, the river retains its original form, with its banks still covered in sprawling nipa palm leaves, glowing bright red at sunset.

Every time I return to my hometown, I stand there, mesmerized, gazing at that river. It seems to possess a magical power, drawing my gaze in. In my eyes, the Cai River is beautiful and gentle, like my mother. In the afternoon, the old boats from the provincial market rush back, their engines spewing white smoke across the river's surface. The sky glows red – a color that evokes both glory and decay, stirring a certain emotion in the heart of a long-abandoned son returning home.

- Thai, come inside, it's windy out there, you'll catch a cold!

My mother called out. At that moment, I was standing absentmindedly on the porch, gazing into the distance. At the river mouth, the late train was slowly passing by. The train evoked so many memories.

In my childhood days, I often waited for my mother to come home on this train. Every couple of weeks, my mother would go to the provincial market. Each time she went, she carried so many things. She would sell the vegetables and fruits we grew at home to earn money. When the sun set, she would return home on the train, her basket always filled with something for me. In my mind, the image of my mother carrying her basket home in the fiery red twilight, on the small, winding road leading from the train station to our house, will never fade.

I stepped inside the house and gently sat down on the hammock strung between two water-stained pillars. The hammock sagged, creaking softly. It had been a long time since I had been immersed in such a peaceful and tranquil country afternoon. In the distance, the sound of the water pump drawing water from the river into the fields mingled with the mournful cries of the bitterns. That sound unexpectedly awakened deep memories within me; suddenly, I felt small again, as if I had never grown up, never experienced the hurt and heartbreak. I knew that in my mother's eyes, I would always be a child – a child who had left home, and whom she would long for every afternoon, just as she used to sit by the riverbank, waiting for the late train from the provincial market.

Time flies so fast, little one! It feels like just yesterday you were so tiny, sitting huddled up in front of my nose like a little mushroom as I carried you along this Cai River. And now you've grown into a grown-up, I'm so happy!

I looked at my mother and smiled. Time flies so fast, it's unbelievable. So much has changed, so much has been gained and lost along its course. I've grown up; the feet that once roamed this place are now wandering in foreign lands. My mother remains here, day after day gazing at the winding Cai River in the fiery red and mysterious sunset. Her back is bent with age. I only get to return home occasionally, and even then, I only stay for a couple of days before having to leave again. Tonight, my heart is filled with so many unspoken emotions. Looking at the Cai River, I suddenly feel a pang of sadness, a mixture of regret, sorrow, and affection, and my eyes well up with tears…

"Mom!" I whispered. Out on the river, the waves crashed against the shore.

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My mother looked at me, silently. I continued:

- Why don't you come live with me in the city, Mom? I'm so worried about you being alone here. Up there, we'll be together, I'll worry less, and you won't have to wait for me every day like you do now.

My mother didn't answer. The sunset was deep and dark. Her silhouette seemed to dissolve into the twilight, half-light, half-dark…

On my father's altar, smoke billows. He is my only spiritual anchor; whenever I feel lost, I think of him, whispering to him in my mind. Now, my mother is gazing intently at my father's altar in the twilight, and I see in her eyes a hint of longing, expectation, remembrance, and sorrow… It seems she is reliving the old days. People often say that the elderly easily forget the past, but for my mother, those old memories have become cherished, turned into stone statues in her heart, and she can never forget them.

In that realm of memories, there is a vivid memory of my father. That afternoon, he crossed the river. A storm raged. The sky was pitch black. My father's boat capsized. My father sank into the river. My mother cried until her tears ran dry… My father left his body to the river, abandoning my mother alone with her young child and a dilapidated house after Typhoon Linda.

Then the storm passed, and the neighbors helped my mother repair the roof and rebuild the kitchen. I remember sitting huddled up, watching everyone, watching my mother, with her pants rolled up to her knees, bustling about, her heart breaking. Back then, I didn't know what it meant to feel sorry for my mother. Back then, I kept thinking my father would come back, that the river wouldn't keep him here forever. But my father didn't come back. Growing up, I realized it was a departure forever…

Back then, people advised my mother, being young, to remarry so she would have someone to lean on. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. As time passed, she decided to remain single and raise me, voluntarily tying her life to this riverbank, to those fiery, glorious, and enchanting sunsets. Because she believed that my father still lived on in the form of the Cai River, in the white waves, in the seasons of rising water… He was still there, just in a different form. He still watched over my mother and me.

My mother wiped away her tears with the hem of her dress, whispering softly:

- Thai! Mom still has memories here. How could she leave? She's decided to stay here forever. With Dad…

I tried to hold back my sobs, afraid I would burst into tears like a child. In that moment, I felt boundless love for my mother, for this land, for the Cai River that had sheltered countless lives for so many years. The Cai River kept my father's little soul safe for my mother.

My mother said, her voice blending with the sounds of the sunset:

- Don't worry, Mom isn't suffering, and doesn't feel lonely at all. How could she be lonely when she has so many beautiful memories here, and her three children?

Oh my God! My mother. Whether the years are peaceful or turbulent, she still cherishes the old memories, living on those memories of the past, faithful to my father's soul at the bottom of the Cai River. I love my mother so much! I want to run to her, hug her tightly, and kiss her wrinkled face like I did when I was a little child. I know that for my mother, nowhere is better than this place, nowhere is better than this riverside where the crimson sunset casts its glow and my father's image returns in her imagination…

I whispered. The bittern had stopped calling.

- Well, then I won't invite you, Mom.
Let's go live in the city again. I understand.
Mom, you originally belonged here. Forever. And Mom, I understand that as long as you're here, I still have a homeland, I can always return, right, Mom?

My mother smiled gently, but tears streamed down her cheeks.

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My mother didn't wipe away her tears, letting them flow down the deep furrows of her eyes, slowly dissolving away. Outside, the space was shrouded in darkness. Completely dark—darkness over the Cai River, darkness over the rows of water coconut trees along the riverbank, darkness over the low-lying houses under the sky of our homeland—but it seemed that this darkness didn't fade away, instead pouring out its life force to paint a strip of clouds across the sky crimson.

I walked closer to my mother, sat down beside her, and rested my head on her knees, which had become thin and trembling with age. My mother gently stroked my hair with her rough hand, just as she used to do whenever I sulked about twenty years ago.

- Yes, as long as Mom is alive, so is our homeland. Later, when Mom is a hundred years old and lies buried in this earth, you can go and look at the Cai River every time the sun sets, and you'll see Mom and Dad, okay, Thai...?

My mother's voice faded into the stillness of the country night that was beginning to fall. Smoke from the dried water hyacinths under the floorboards, used to repel mosquitoes, gently rose, drifting into the air and creating a scent that was both pungent and familiar, stirring my heart…

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath of the scent of the earth, of the alluvial soil, of the sunset in my homeland. Tomorrow, I must return to the hustle and bustle of the city, embarking on the relentless struggle for survival. But I know that from now on, my heart has a firm anchor. This riverbank, this stream, and the image of my mother sitting in the fiery red sunset will forever be a guiding light for me throughout my life.

Tonight, the Cai River still flows peacefully, embracing and protecting my mother and me, and the beautiful memories of the past that remain etched in my heart, my mother's heart…/.

Hoang Khanh Duy

Source: https://baotayninh.vn/tham-tham-hoang-hon-148603.html