1.
That day, I was herding the cows home from the fields, and dinner was still being prepared when my mother hurriedly folded the rope-tipped bucket and called out:
- Năm isn't allowed to play doubles or competitive games with anyone tonight; after dinner, he'll go to the fields and help Mom irrigate.
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Illustration: Tran Thang |
Năm reluctantly replied, "Yes, Mom." She added, "I think you should have told me beforehand, because I already have a date with Khôi today. You all eat dinner first, I'll just run over to his house." Năm cycled out the door with a grimace on her face.
Honestly, there's no fuss about bailing water under the moonlight. Farmers are busy with fields, cattle, pigs, ducks, chickens... so dry fields are usually bailed at night. Of course, the moon is essential.
A moonlit night in the middle of the field would be as joyful as a festival: laughter, shouts and calls, the rustling of clothes rubbing against the night dew, the "plop" of water buckets, and even the sighs sounded endearing. I imagined all this and longed for my mother to let me go into the field to draw water.
- Mom, can I go with you?
- Stay home with Aunt Six and focus on your studies.
I quickly brought up the topic of studying to cope with the situation:
- Mom and my brother just kept bailing water, while I sat and studied; I wasn't playing along.
"Sitting around like mosquito bait instead of learning anything in the fields?" said Uncle Nam.
- I sat and watched you and Mom work so I could learn how to write essays.
Seeing her daughter's earnestness, the mother sighed:
- If you really want to, then go.
When my mother approved, I jumped for joy.
The road to the fields was incredibly long, much longer than I had imagined. This was the first time my mother had let me go into the fields; before, if I had ever gone with her, it was only to the outer fields. Ah, my house is situated between two fields, like a heart between two lungs, but one breathes easily, the other breathes with a wheezing sound.
The outer fields are flat, fertile, with deep rice paddies and shallow ditches, plenty of water, and lush green rice plants. But the inner fields—oh my god—to reach them you have to cross rivers and climb hills. The fields are a jumble of shallow and deep paddies, and the irrigation system is inadequate, so most of the rice plants survive on water taken from… buckets with ropes.
We've arrived. A breezy, cool field. The rice plants are in their prime, a lush green, bathed in moonlight, casting a soft golden glow.
My mother and brother were scooping water from the embankment. Meanwhile, I strolled over to the neighboring rice paddies. The fields were bathed in moonlight, and since it wasn't just our house, it was bustling with activity. My little feet trod on the dew-covered grass, and I chattered incessantly to everyone I met, prompting Aunt Tư to tease my mother:
- My older sister brought her "radio" today, and listening to it helped relieve my fatigue.
My mother laughed and explained, "I gave birth to her before she was born, so now she talks incessantly wherever she goes. But only today; after that, I'll keep her at home so I can have some free time to work."
I only understood my mother's joke later – it was the joke of a woman who had spent her whole life working and sacrificing, but always made room for her children's laughter.
But it wasn't just talk; I couldn't sit idly by when I saw something interesting. Unwilling to remain on the sidelines, I resorted to pleading:
- Mom! Can I try scooping up a bucket of water? Just one bucket!
My mother looked at me—her eyes filled with both love and worry. But Uncle Nam intervened:
- You can't try that. Scooping water with a bucket and rope is not the same as jumping rope!
I pouted, pretending to be very knowledgeable:
- Just stand with your legs apart, bend over, let go of the rope, scoop up the water, pull it up, and toss it! That's it, right?
- They say one thing, but do another.
- Well, we'll only know after trying it.
Mother sighed:
- Yeah, I'll slap you again so you know what it's like to suffer, then go home and study hard so you won't be carrying a bucket to bail water like your mother in the future.
I was overjoyed when my mother agreed to let me try. I was thrilled to hear that. I ran to take the bucket rope from her hand, my eyes sparkling like a cat seeing a mouse.
Uncle Nam is standing on that side, and I'm on this side.
The rope was taut, the moonlight glistening on the water. I took a deep breath, like I was about to compete in an athletic event.
- One... two... three... release!
I bent over like a chicken pecking at grain, gripped both ends of the rope tightly, and then… let go. The bucket fell with a "plop" into the ditch.
I pulled it up. It was very light. Where's the water?
- That's a draft, let me redo it, okay, Nam?
The second time, I tilted the bucket a little more, letting it drop more slowly. This time it worked! The bucket was full of water! I exclaimed:
- Haha, turns out I was born with a talent for scooping water with a bucket and rope.
"Now fill the bucket, okay?" He said something inspiring, then counted:
One… two… three! Pull!
I pulled, not forgetting to use all my strength. And then… oh my god! I tumbled headfirst into the field, while the bucket landed on the bank. A classic, one-of-a-kind "position swap" in my career of scooping water with a rope bucket in the rice paddies.
The pond water was freezing cold, the muddy ground a soggy mess. I screamed and thrashed about in the water. Uncle Nam threw down a rope and jumped in to pull me up. Mother rushed over, hugged me tightly, both worried and… annoyed:
- I told you to stay put on the bank! The water in the field is very cold, and there's dew coming down too. Staying in the field all night, you'll catch a cold and die.
I fell silent. No more laughter, no more chatter or arguments. I only saw my mother's shoulders trembling in the mist. She took off her cloak and covered me with it, stroking my back with one hand, wiping my face with the other, muttering as if blaming herself:
- Just this once, there won't be another time. Stay home and study for your mother.
I was cold and shivering. Aunt Ba from the neighboring field asked if I'd gotten hurt in my hands or feet. My mother said I was just cold and hugged me tightly. "If only I could jump into the water instead of her, I would," she told Aunt Ba.
Just a playful remark from my mother made me want to cry. Then, like a child, I nestled my head against her chest, inhaling the scent and warmth emanating from the body of a woman who daily was covered in mud. My memory remains: the smell of mud on my mother's clothes, the strangely sweet scent of her sweat-soaked body.
Perhaps it was the first time I truly understood my mother's hardships and love. Even though my body was freezing cold, my heart felt incredibly warm. My mother hugged me; I could feel her hands trembling and saw her eyes redden in the moonlight.
My mother wouldn't have needed to cultivate those extra rice paddies if it weren't for her strict rule that all six of her children must go to school, and that she forbade any of them from ever having to work in agriculture, painstakingly gathering every drop of water like she did.
After that night, I was banned from "the job of scooping water." But I also managed to grow a little—not in height, but in understanding. I understood why the moon over the fields was so beautiful. The moon made me clearly see my mother bending over, pulling the bucket, her back soaked with sweat, her heart always filled with worry for her child.
2.
My mother was orphaned at a young age and had to rely on the care of the villagers from the moment she was born. By the age of eight or nine, she had to carry her younger siblings around until her hips ached just to get food; as she grew older, she struggled from one field to another, from the countryside to other places.
Mrs. Nam in the neighborhood saw my mother and exclaimed, "You're from a sturdy family, so no termites can eat you, you're incredibly resilient..."
Yes, she's incredibly talented. I can't even imagine what I would be like in my mother's situation. Never having gone to school, a childhood devoid of parental love, marrying a strong, hardworking farmer, having to carry eight children on her back to fulfill her husband's ambitions.
During the war years, my father was involved in revolutionary activities and was often away from home. My mother took care of the fields and the children all by herself. Needless to say, she did everything: plowing, sowing, building embankments, hoeing, fertilizing, weeding, transplanting, harvesting rice, carrying loads, drying straw, raising cattle, pulling carts… she could do it all. She could do every kind of farming work, and she did it exceptionally well.
Moreover, working in the fields year-round, she would weave baskets and other items to earn some extra money whenever she had free time. She could make anything from baskets and sieves to winnowing trays and other containers, but her most notable skill was making rope buckets. Thanks to the drought in the fields, this work helped her earn extra money for her children's education. You might wonder, why would she need to call it a "special skill" when it comes to weaving rope buckets?
That's right, basically I love my mother. And because of that love, I'll introduce a little bit about this rope bucket as a way of expressing my pride in her.
"The 'rope bucket'—a type of water-scooping tool, specifically used to carry water from ponds, ditches, and deep fields to higher ground—is very difficult to make. Not everyone knows how to weave it. The rim of the bucket is usually made of thinly sharpened bamboo, bent into a circle, and braided with strips of bamboo or dried banana fiber."
The bottom of the bucket is a thick layer of palm sheath, bamboo sheath, or burlap, tightly tied to a bamboo ring to form a water-holding pouch. To make a good rope bucket, my mother chooses old bamboo, splits it, removes the nodes, and then soaks it in water for a few days to make it pliable. My mother said that making a rope bucket requires not only skillful hand weaving but also knowing how to choose the right materials to ensure its longevity.
After finishing, before putting them on the "market," my mother always tested them. She held the rope, turned the bucket to see if the water flowed smoothly and evenly. My mother's rope-operated buckets were both light and durable; the rope wouldn't break or the water wouldn't spill even after scooping for a whole day, so they were very popular with uncles and aunts who bought them.
3.
I grew up, went to school, and left the village. The moonlit nights of my hometown, especially the nights under the vast, windy fields filled with the intoxicating scent of young rice seedlings, are now only memories. No one asks, but if I have the chance, I will find a way to tell you:
- Because I was born and raised in the fields, I learned how to fall. And I also learned how to get back up from my mother's hands.
That first time I used a bucket to scoop water and ended up falling headfirst into the rice field taught me a lesson I'll never forget: when working together, you can't do things your own way.
We must support each other, understand each other, and cooperate to make things work. And more than anything, I've come to understand the greatest thing: a mother's love is wordless. Just a moonlit night, a bucket with a rope, and an embrace in the mud are enough to be etched in my memory and to be grateful for a lifetime.
NGUYEN THI BICH NHAN
Source: https://baovinhlong.com.vn/van-hoa-giai-tri/tac-gia-tac-pham/202509/truyen-ngan-chiec-gau-day-va-uoc-mo-cua-me-4750650/
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