Humanity...

It was the summer of 1980, I was a third-year student at Hanoi University of Technology.

Illustrative image. Source: Internet

I was a soldier returning to school, the class's Party branch secretary, and at that time I was assigned to verify the background of a fellow student named Quân, from Đông Thọ commune in Thanh Hoá town, for Party membership. I obtained a work permit from the school and traveled by train to Thanh Hóa . Back then, weather forecasts on our country's radio were often very inaccurate. The meteorological sector was always a source of humorous stories. They would predict sunshine, but sometimes there would be heavy rain, and other times they would predict rain, but the fields would remain cracked and not a single drop of rain would fall. I went to Thanh Hóa on the very day a typhoon was about to hit the East Sea without knowing it.

I passed by Quân's neighborhood, knowing he lived there, but I didn't go in to uphold protocol. I went straight to the commune committee headquarters on the outskirts of the village, where the Party committee also worked. I presented my letter of introduction and spoke with Ms. Bình, the standing committee member of the commune Party committee. Before I could finish my cup of tea, a strong wind blew outside. It was only about three o'clock in the afternoon. Ms. Bình had just stood up to close the window when the rain started to fall heavily. The raindrops were so big you could almost count them. Ms. Bình immediately locked the door, gave me a raincoat, and we both ran through the rain to her house, which was almost a kilometer away.

Ms. Binh's house was in a small hamlet next to the railway line, about a kilometer from there to Thanh Hoa station. When we arrived home, we saw the rain pouring down, blanketing the sky and the ground. Ms. Binh's house was a small, three-room brick house with a small brick courtyard. At the front and back of the house were several overgrown bamboo bushes, leaning against the wall to block the wind. Only her two children, both in elementary school, were home. After a while, her husband came running home, braving the rain and wind. He worked as a caretaker of the cooperative's fish pond. He was about ten years older than me, with a dark tan complexion, looking like a strong, burly man. We greeted each other, his voice booming, typical of someone who speaks loudly and boisterously.

That evening, I was at Ms. Binh's house, having dinner with her family. They cooked a lot of rice, and the food consisted of small fish, like the oilfish her husband brought from the pond, that he had stewed. The vegetables were some kind of lotus stem, boiled, I think it was called lotus root. Everyone ate heartily, even the two children quietly and obediently scooped up their own food. Ms. Binh and I only ate three bowls each, but her husband ate seven or eight. He would put a handful of fish on top of each full bowl of rice, then use his chopsticks to cut the rice into four parts, like cutting a rice cake. Then, with each chopstick move, he would scoop a quarter of the bowl into his mouth. He did this four times, four bites, and the bowl was empty. I had only managed a few bites of rice, and I stopped eating to watch him eat. While he was helping his wife get a new bowl of rice, he nudged me and said, "Eat more, man, why are you eating so slowly?" I sped up, but I still finished the meal much slower than him, and Ms. Binh had to wait for me while she ate. In the end, I finished my meal only slightly earlier than the two children.

That night, Mr. Binh left his wife in the room with the children, while he set up a bamboo cot outside for me to sleep with him, each of us on our own cot. They were so kind. Only much later, after I had my own wife, did I understand that he had sacrificed several nights away from his wife to sleep beside me, an unwilling guest, so that I wouldn't be lonely. That night, it rained heavily, and the wind howled outside. The sound of the rain seemed to chase each other across the roof. Mr. and Mrs. Binh's village had no electricity. It was pitch black all around, but every now and then, lightning flashed, making everything look flickering. I was a soldier, used to sleeping under the open sky, and I slept easily, able to lie down anywhere. I had once slept in the scorching sun in a large open field with no shade, just covering my face with a towel, regardless of the sweat that kept pouring out and drying, my clothes burning hot. At the outpost during the rainy season, I slept at night wrapped only in plastic to cover half my body, while the rest of my body from the thighs down was soaked in the rain all night, and I still managed to sleep. Hearing the sound of enemy artillery fire, I would jump up and rush down into the waterlogged trenches. When the shelling stopped, I would crawl back up, wrap myself in plastic, and go back to sleep, even though my clothes were now soaking wet. Yet, at Binh's house, I lay listening to the rain and wind outside for a long time before finally falling asleep.

The next morning it was still raining heavily. It seemed this area was in the eye of the storm. The rain wasn't as persistent and dreary as a jungle downpour, but being in the eye of the storm was still quite frightening. The rain was heavy and the wind was very strong, as if the sky was hurling water down. Mr. and Mrs. Binh got up early to boil potatoes for breakfast. The rain was still so heavy it was blinding; you couldn't see anything in the distance. The water in the yard hadn't drained fast enough and was up to ten centimeters deep. After breakfast, Mr. Binh went back to the fish pond, and Mrs. Binh put on a plastic bag and went to the commune office. Only I was home with the two children. I talked to them; the older sister was in fourth grade, and the younger brother in second. There was nothing else to do, so I told them to get their books out and study. It turned out the two children were very studious. They excitedly asked me about the homework they couldn't do. So I played the role of the village teacher and taught them. At noon, Mr. and Mrs. Binh both came home. Again, a bunch of shrimp they had caught from the pond and a handful of lotus stems that Mr. Binh brought back for lunch. Lunch was the same as the previous evening; Mr. Binh ate quickly and heartily as before. They kept urging me to "eat heartily." In the afternoon, it was just me at home with the two children studying. Ms. Binh prepared a large pot of herbal tea for the three of us to drink. Late in the afternoon, they braved the pouring rain to come home for dinner. In the evening, they just chatted for a while before going to bed early. Because of the storm, they couldn't do any work at home anyway.

For three consecutive days, things remained the same. He went to the fish pond to tend to the fish, and she went to the commune's Party committee to work. I stayed home twice a day with the two children, helping them with their homework and math. They liked and appreciated me very much. The background check for Quân's Party membership application was completed by Ms. Bình. I didn't have to go to the branch secretary's or the commune's Party committee secretary's house to present my case, ask for their opinion, and get their signatures and stamps. The rain gradually subsided, only occasionally pouring down before stopping again. Sometimes the sun even shone a little. The train, which had been idle for several days due to the storm, was now running again, so it was time for me to say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Bình and their two children and return home. I had stayed at Mr. and Mrs. Bình's house for more than three days and four nights.

Early Wednesday morning, Mr. Binh and I woke up early so he could take me to the train station. I had planned to finish my business that afternoon, buy some snacks at the station that evening, and sleep there until morning before heading back to Hanoi. Therefore, I only brought a small amount of money and no rice ration coupons. Unexpectedly, I was stranded by the storm and stayed at Mrs. Binh's house for several days. The night before, to prepare for parting, I thanked Mr. and Mrs. Binh and awkwardly gave Mrs. Binh a few coins from my pocket, keeping only enough for the train ticket. They refused them, and Mrs. Binh even scolded me:

"Don't do that and disappoint us. That would be disrespectful and contemptuous of us. You were a soldier yourself, after all. This time you're here on official business. If Mr. Quan joins the Party, our village will have another government official, adding to the village's prestige. You can stay at our house for a few days, help the children with their studies, and we'll treat you like soldiers serving the people. We'll be grateful for any help we can give you. Don't worry about it. Please send our regards to your parents. Come visit us sometime when you're in the area."

Only the dim oil lamp cast a faint light in the room. I held Mr. and Mrs. Binh's hands and felt tears welling up in my eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Binh are so kind. The people of Thanh Hoa are so gentle and compassionate, just like the spirit of the past when everyone gave everything to the front lines.

Mr. Binh took me along a shortcut to the train station while it was still dark so he could get back in time for breakfast and to check on his fish pond. I was almost the first passenger to board the train at Thanh Hoa station that day.

Upon arriving in Hanoi, I immediately went to buy both sets of textbooks for second and fourth grade. Back then, it wasn't easy for students to buy complete sets of textbooks, especially in rural areas. I asked Quân to bring them to Ms. Bình's house for me whenever he went back to Thanh Hoa.

The beautiful and heartwarming memories of the people of Thanh Hoa have stayed with me throughout my life, helping me to always believe and strive to overcome all difficulties in life.

Vu Cong Chien (Contributor)

Source: https://baothanhhoa.vn/tinh-nguoi-218465.htm