Short story: The Night Wind

( Quang Ngai Newspaper) - In Dung hamlet, everyone knows Dau Dua, the boy his grandfather found while cutting grass on the hill. Whenever Dau Dua is mentioned, the people of Dung hamlet often recount the story of Mr. Manh returning that afternoon, dragging a sack of grass in one hand and cradling Dau Dua in the other, who was slumped over like a rag, covered in scabies. That day, his grandmother, as usual, herded the ducks from the pond into the coop. When she turned around, she still hadn't seen Mr. Manh return, and she looked at the sky worriedly. Earlier that day, when he left with his sickle and sack, she had warned him, "It looks like it's going to rain this afternoon, hurry up and come back!" He mumbled, "You treat me like a child."

She went into the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. Just as she was turning the rice pot over in the ashes, she heard a commotion outside. Looking out, she saw her husband rushing by in the twilight, followed by Mr. Buong, Mrs. Nhu, and Mrs. Man from the neighborhood. She dropped the chopsticks she was holding and ran out. In his arms was a baby, about a year old, with bubbles coming from his nose. "Quick, find something for him to eat, he's hungry!" he shouted.

Not understanding what was happening, she rushed into the kitchen, scooped rice into a bowl, and picked up a piece of braised fish. While Mrs. Nhu helped the boy down to feed him, she went to the water basin to wash the towel. After finishing the bowl of rice, the boy became alert, looking around blankly. She wiped his face; after wiping, his face looked brighter, but his body still smelled fishy. Mrs. Nhu turned away: "Poor thing, his head is covered in pimples!" "Look, what's wrong with his hand?" Mrs. Man pointed to the boy's left arm, which hung down like a piece of excess flesh.

At this point, Grandma whispered, "Whose child is that, husband?" "I don't know," he replied. "I was mowing the grass near the pineapple field when I heard a child crying. I ran over and found him lying in the grass, his body red from ant bites." "Now how do we know where his parents are?" she asked. "Let's wait and see. If they don't claim him, I'll take him to the city for Mạnh and his wife to raise." "Mạnh? Do you think he'll raise the boy?" she exclaimed. "Why not? They've been married for over six years and haven't had any children. Now that they have a boy, it's a blessing from heaven!" he chuckled, showing more than half of his missing teeth.

She stifled a sigh. Mr. Buong, Mrs. Nhu, and Mrs. Man exchanged worried glances. After a brief discussion, they left. As they reached the gate, Mrs. Nhu muttered, "Looking at that boy, I feel so sorry for him. Raising a child like that would mean serving him for a lifetime."

The evening meal was served, and Mr. Manh ate while gazing at the little boy. In contrast, his wife held her bowl of rice, her eyes fixed on the fields. Understanding her thoughts, he smiled and said, "There's nothing to worry about. If Manh doesn't raise him, then you and I will. Tomorrow, after we release the ducks, you should quickly go up the mountain to pick some wild ginger to boil and use as a bath for his scabies. Wait for his parents to arrive; if they don't, I'll take him to the city."

She thought to herself in silence, "For him, everything in the world is easy." Turning to the boy who was timidly looking at her, he seemed to understand. Feeling sorry for him, she pulled him closer, gently stroked his limp arm, and sighed, "How pitiful, suffering from the moment he opens his eyes..."

For over two months, despite inquiries, there was still no sign of the boy's parents. Since returning to his grandparents' home, he's gained weight and knows to respectfully greet everyone with folded hands. Every week, his grandmother goes up the hill to pick wild betel leaves, filling a sack to use for bathing him. The scabs on his head and legs are now completely dry. After herding the ducks in the afternoon, she found her husband sitting on the bed. "I've been thinking, the boy's fine now, I'll take him to the city next week." "Oh... but I'm worried..." she mused, looking out at the fields, a habit she had whenever something difficult came up. "Just leave it to me! From now on, we'll call him 'Sticky Bean'," he chuckled. "I'm sick of you stir-frying sticky beans for thirty days a month, but he still eats them happily, what a poor boy!"

She smiled, her eyes welling up as she watched Dau Dua scurrying around the yard, hissing and chirping like a chicken, mimicking her perfectly...

On Sunday morning, Mr. Manh woke up very early, and his wife also hurried to cook rice and pack food for the journey. Knowing that Mr. Manh and his grandson Dau Dua were going to the city, Mr. Buong helped them get to the highway. The bumpy red dirt road went uphill and downhill, Mr. Manh swayed behind, Dau Dua was squeezed in between, his face bewildered. The journey was over three hundred kilometers, and by the time they arrived, it was already evening. Mr. Manh waved to a motorbike taxi driver and gave him the address written on the paper. The driver, familiar with the route, sped along. Several times, Mr. Manh felt overwhelmed and hit the driver on the shoulder, saying, "Let my grandson and I get off and walk!" The driver laughed heartily and sped off again.

Mr. Manh stood for a long time, gazing at the towering, intricately carved bronze gate. "Tsk tsk... what a gate, like a castle," he muttered. Dau Dua clung to his shirt, timidly looking around. "Manh!" he called, then banged loudly on the gate, and a huge German Shepherd dog rushed out.

MH: VO VAN

The gate swung open, and a plump woman poked her head out, snapping, "Who are you looking for!?" "Where's Mạnh, miss?" he asked, grinning, revealing a gaping mare's missing teeth. "What's your name so I can address you properly?" the woman asked irritably. "I'm his father! Got it?" he retorted.

The woman nodded quickly and hurriedly opened the gate. Climbing all the steps to the porch, he panted, looking up to see his son standing before him. “Dad?” “Yeah, I’ve been waiting for you to come home, so I came up for something important.” “What is it? Come inside first, Dad!” he said, then turned to his son, Dau Dua: “Whose child is this, Dad?” “Come inside, let’s talk.”

Mr. Manh instructed Dau Dua to sit quietly on the garden chair, then beckoned Manh over: "This little boy was found on the hill while I was cutting grass. He has a bright, gentle face, but unfortunately, his arm is disabled. Take him in and raise him. You and your wife are childless, and having him will bring joy to your home, and you'll be doing a good deed too."

Before he could finish the sentence, Mạnh protested vehemently, "What are you thinking, Dad? I'm not going to adopt that boy, you can think about it..." "Enough, enough!" Mr. Mành waved his hand. "If you don't want to, I will. No need to think about it," he stomped out the door, going to Đậu Đũa, who was engrossed in watching the swallows in the cage. He picked up Đậu Đũa and put a cloth hat on his head. "Go home, son, go back to your grandparents, eat whatever you can find!" "Dad..." Mạnh called after him from the porch. Mr. Mành walked ahead without looking back.

It's been five years since she passed away. Little Dau Dua is now twelve years old; he takes over from his grandfather in cutting grass, tending the cows, and cooking meals. Sometimes, his grandfather stares at him without blinking, as if God, seeing his kind and virtuous life, had brought him to him in his old age.

Dau Dua spent half the day at school and the other half working in the fields. If she went anywhere far, she'd rush back to her grandfather. Her son and his wife, who lived in the city, visited only twice a year before leaving again. When her grandfather was ill, Dau Dua was the only one by his side. She was affectionate, but her face was always pensive. Now grown up, Dau Dua knew that her grandfather had found her on the hill. After finishing her chores, she would often find excuses to cut grass and go alone, sitting where her grandfather used to see her cry. Dau Dua would sit there for a long time, then silently return home in the evening. Her childhood revolved around the garden, the wind, her grandfather, and this hill. She remembered her grandmother singing lullabies like, "Oh, oh, the wooden bridge is nailed...", those sad lullabies deeply ingrained in her memory.

Sometimes he imagined his parents' faces resembling this or that person he'd seen on TV, then looked down at his arm, which felt like a piece of extra flesh, and sadly thought, "I can still do all those things when I grow up... why did they leave me...?" He sobbed silently. Many nights, while he slept, Mr. Manh would sit beside him, fanning him with a bamboo fan. Sometimes he would hear him mumble and sob in his sleep. He loved his adopted grandson more than his own son in the city. As dusk fell, a car horn tingled outside the gate, and his son returned. Lately, he'd been coming home frequently, always with gifts for him. From outside the gate, he could hear his son's cheerful voice: "Dau Dua, where's Grandpa?" "Grandpa's digging in the backyard," Dau Dua politely replied, then slipped out into the garden to find an excuse to put straw for the cows.

The father and son sat on the porch, and Mạnh whispered in his father's ear, "Our land is worth gold now, Dad. They're preparing to build a big road through here, a road leading to a tourist area. Here's my plan..." He lowered his voice, "Soon I'll have someone come here to inspect our land and design a European-style garden house. My wife and I will live here with you, Dad, and we'll rent out the villa on the street..."

“Well, what you said sounds good to me, but I’m a farmer, I’m used to the rural lifestyle. Just let me stay here raising cows and ducks, growing vegetables. You stay in the city, it’s safer.” “Dad!” Mạnh said angrily. “What kind of father and son are we? We can’t even get along for more than two sentences.” Then he stood up, smoothing his neatly combed hair: “I’m leaving now. I’ll come back next week to talk to you, Dad. Think about it…”

Mr. Manh silently stacked the baskets he had just woven, not bothering to look up at his son. He carried the stack of baskets to the porch and went out to the garden to find Dau Dua. In the dim twilight, Dau Dua sat beside a pile of still-wet straw, his healthy arm wrapped around his knee, his chin resting on his extra arm, his eyes distant...
"Spinach Bean! Come here to Grandpa!"

Dau Dua turned around, and in the twilight, she saw her grandfather's worried face. She didn't understand what had made him so sad. He looked into her clear eyes, eyes that were always bewildered and pensive. He hugged her close, inhaling the pungent smell of sweat on her back.

Night. Dau Dua slept soundly, his childlike face radiant in the lamplight. He gazed at him intently. After a while, he fumbled for a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen, trembling as he bent down to the wooden platform in the middle of the room and carefully wrote, "The will... My name is...".

The night wind is still blowing outside.

VU NGOC GIAO

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