Short story: Double happiness

( Quang Ngai Newspaper) - Train SE2 left Saigon station at 7:20 p.m. There were four people in the sleeper compartment. Four people from the same starting point, going in the same direction, they were different in age and profession. One had wavy hair and an artist-like beard. One was very young and in college. One wore a monk's robe. And finally, a demobilized soldier.

The street lights and rows of buildings shot backward. The train shook and sped up. The demobilized soldier examined the two blond, blue-eyed dolls and smiled smugly. The artist-looking guy put his hands on his forehead and jumped up. Perhaps he caught a flash of a poem in his head. But no, he looked at the two dolls and asked:
- Hey man, what's so appealing about that doll's eyes?
- Yes. There is joy, happiness and love. Double happiness.
- Double happiness? The artist-looking guy asked.
- Yes. Does that surprise you?
He looked like an artist, frowned, looked out the window, then suddenly turned back and asked:
- Double happiness? Can you be a little more specific?
- Oh my! No wonder people say poets have soaring souls. Their feet are on the ground, but their souls are in the clouds.

MH: VO VAN

The artist seemed to secretly think that love and happiness are complicated. He spent his whole life chasing after them, but was always disappointed. Sometimes he felt like a kingfisher in the “pool of life”. Love is like a fish circling around, seen and then lost. How could there be a type of double happiness? Strange? These thoughts made him even more curious. He said:
- I'm telling you the truth, I'm more than half way through my life and still haven't had a single bit of happiness. How did you get it? Can you share some of your experiences?
The demobilized soldier smiled. A truly happy smile said:
- When you walk, look under your feet. There are thorns and stars. Peace and storms.
Suddenly the monk spoke up:
- Yes, you are absolutely right. Under the footsteps of mankind, there is both heaven and hell. Humanity lives by walking forward, human feet walk through dawn and dusk. Each step, behind is the past, ahead is the future. People look towards the future, and sometimes they also like to look back to the past. Because there is both suffering and happiness.

The artist-like guy slapped his forehead, “troublesome”. Just happiness sounds so complicated. The student had been lying still listening to his seniors discuss. Suddenly he sat up and joined in:
- Dear uncles and brothers, at school, my teacher once quoted the writer Nam Cao's saying "Happiness is a narrow blanket, one person's blanket will be tight, the other person's blanket will be open". In my opinion, suffering and happiness are not far away, they are in the middle of people.
The train seemed to be carrying ancient sages to the holy land, not going home together to celebrate Tet. Suddenly, a cry was heard, “Who wants soft drinks, chicken porridge, or coffee?” The voice of a woman pushing a cart interrupted the conversation. The “sages” fell silent. The cry pulled them back through ancient times and into reality, closer to the bowl of chicken porridge.

- Come on! Please enjoy some chicken porridge. The steaming hot chicken porridge. The demobilized soldier invited cheerfully.
The artist-looking guy was hungry, fed, and suddenly felt happy. But in his mind, the happiness of a demobilized soldier still had no satisfactory answer. The monk quietly lifted his shirt. The train was still running and time was still passing. They had passed the sunset when the train started moving. The train was carrying them towards the dawn, towards the future. The future was spring. There was the laughter of children. There was the warmth of the countryside. There were rice fields, and the river was growing new colors. Each flower was brilliant and shimmering in the spring wind. Tomorrow, everyone would get off the train. Go back on their familiar path. The soldier finished his duty and returned to his family. The student was sure his lover was waiting for him at the train station. The monk returned to his temple to chant sutras. The artist-looking guy also stopped, where he had gone, what he was looking for, only he knew.

On his wandering steps, he had come to a faraway land in the South. The South this season has monsoon winds. The wind from the sea blows day and night through a small coastal town. The town seems to be familiar to everyone. In the morning, under the swaying coconut trees, on the sandy shore, he crosses his legs on the motorbike waiting for passengers. Passengers come and go, passing by the familiar road like thoughts passing through his mind, leaving nothing behind. Suddenly this morning he realized that there was a bit of gentleness in that familiarity. It was a straight road along the sandy shore. The road under the coconut trees was so dreamily peaceful. He lit a fire and exhaled smoke, absentmindedly thinking about something far away. He thought of himself as a flower whose value was beyond his expectations.

Suddenly a hand patted on the shoulder:
- Take me to the roundabout in front of the town market.
- Ok bro! But how much do you give? From here to there is half a liter.
- Just take me, money is no problem. “No problem”, I have met a big customer. He was overjoyed. The customer was over fifty, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, a neat but slightly sloppy tie.
- Please get in the car.
- Wait, wait for me a moment. The customer took out a pack of three numbers, lit it, and handed him a cigarette. The lighter did not light. He cupped his hand to block the wind. The smoke rose and dissipated in the early morning wind. Suddenly, as if filled with joy, he blurted out: "The wind and frost have passed through the streets several times/ The dust bows down, remembering the homeland."
The guest looked surprised:
- Do you know poetry too? The guest asked.
- No. That poem is by an old man from the South, by Mr. Son Nam.
- You also know Mr. Son Nam? The guest's voice was full of surprise.
- Yes, I also overheard my fellow wanderers reading in roadside shops. There, those who make a living far from home often read poetry to comfort themselves.
- Where are you from?
- In the Central region, very far away, brother.
The story of two people, broken by the wind. But in him, the past story continued to appear. In this small town, during the years of wandering, he had experienced several monsoon seasons. Once, while wandering, his footsteps stumbled upon the dimple of a woman at the corner of the street, near the supermarket. In the morning, he walked in:
- Black coffee, please, lady! He took out the pack of cigarettes from the table and smoothed his wind-ruffled hair.
- You should call "owner" to be gentle.
The woman smiled and tossed her hair back. The yellow butterfly leaf spun and fell onto the table. The leaf lay still, and his heart spun again. He sipped his hot black coffee, his mind wandering with distant thoughts. The shop owner behind the counter tilted her shoulder and also cast a distant gaze.
- Please pay the bill, owner. Does that sound easy?
- Thanks, it's starting to get easier.

Just that, but my heart is heavy. I know that in this vast foreign land, under the shade of this yellow butterfly flower, there are so many leaves spinning in that dimple. I am just a tiny leaf that keeps falling but has not yet reached your heart.
After that, he never returned to that yellow trumpet tree again, staying far away, even though he knew his heart was sometimes very close.
While thinking, the guest patted his shoulder:
- Here. Here. Let me off here. Here, I'd like to invite you for a coffee.
The guest grabbed his hand and pulled him in. He tried to refuse, because he knew that there, under that yellow poinciana tree, there was both suffering and happiness. If happiness is a narrow blanket, then many people here are struggling with each other.
Just then, the owner of the shop walked out. Seeing him, she smiled and tossed her hair back. The customer's eyes widened:
- Hey, do you know this guy?
- Yes. I know, he was a regular customer here before. Where have you been that you haven't come to my shop?
- Oh, dear. Times are tough, honey is scarce and flies are numerous, and there's no honey here, so go somewhere else.
The words are like distant reproaches.
He turned the car around, the passenger kept insisting. He refused. He knew he was just a fallen leaf beyond his dreams. The sound of the car gradually faded away.
For him, happiness is something far away. It is something that is only a dream for life, a poem that flickers in the soul. Happiness sometimes comes easily to some people, but is very difficult for others. He thought and then fell asleep to the steady sound of the train moving forward.

***

The sky was bright. Sugarcane fields and bamboo banks flashed past the train's side door. The distant rice fields were obscured by drizzle. The loudspeaker announced, "Dear passengers, train SE2 is about to enter QN station. Please get off at QN station and check your luggage... the train will stop at QN station to pick up and drop off passengers for a few minutes and then continue on immediately..." The demobilized soldier was carrying a heavy backpack and did not forget to check his two beautiful dolls. The artist-like guy said:
- You get off at this station too?
- Yes, I'm coming down. It seems you're still interested in the two dolls, right? Let me tell you this, after my leave, I returned to the unit, and there was news that my wife was pregnant... Nine months later, she gave me two at once. The two of them were like two flowers. I said double happiness is here.
They both laughed. The artist-looking guy shook hands in congratulations. The train stopped. They got off. Each went their separate ways, but they met at “Double Happiness”.

CONVERSATION

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Source: https://baoquangngai.vn/van-hoa/van-hoc/202412/truyen-ngan-hanh-phuc-nhan-doi-436148f/