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Illustrative image (AI). |
Overwhelmed with sadness, his heart and soul withered like dried-up flowers falling from a branch, Huân wanted to go somewhere to relieve his sorrow. Suddenly, his father, Nấm, called and invited him to visit his hometown for a few days, a place teeming with fish and fermented seafood, and boats everywhere. His friend offered him a free eco -tourism ticket to the orchards, so Huân went immediately.
It's been two years since my last visit to my hometown on the island, and things have changed dramatically. Everything is no longer messy, dilapidated, and dark; the roads are now paved smoothly, and at night the streetlights shine brightly, just like in the city.
The countryside retains its peaceful charm. As the car drove along the tree-lined road, Huân encountered a girl with long, glossy hair wearing a purple ao dai (traditional Vietnamese dress), and he immediately asked her for directions to Nấm's father's house.
The girl pointed to the house in front of them, with its rows of ripe red rambutan trees illuminating a corner of the sky: that was Nấm's father's house. Then she looked down at the river: "At this time of day, Uncle Tư Đờn usually paddles his boat to collect plastic bottles and plant mangrove trees along this riverbank. Keep an eye out and see if you can spot him."
It was their first meeting, but Huân felt like he'd known her for a very long time. Then Huân said to himself, "Oh my God, Huân, are you smitten or something? You're stammering so much."
The mangrove trees stretched far from the riverbank, the nests of storks hanging precariously from the branches of the mangroves far out at sea. On the vast expanse of the river, a man was drifting in a small boat, collecting plastic bottles – that was Uncle Tư Đờn, Nấm's father, seven out of ten strands of hair completely white. The girl pointed, "There's Uncle Tư Đờn!" Huân was overjoyed. Before Huân could even thank her, the girl had already driven away.
Hearing Huân's call, Uncle Tư paddled his boat to shore, using a rope to tie it to a mangrove tree to anchor the boat. Some of these mangrove trees grew naturally, while others were planted by Uncle Tư Đờn, who encouraged the villagers to help retain the alluvial soil, preserving the land and the rustic charm of his hometown. Uncle Tư was very experienced in planting mangroves; he planted them during the dry season, and by the time the flood season arrived, the trees had already taken root and thrived even when submerged.
He is the "leader" of this island. He takes on all the responsibilities, from damaged roads and broken dikes to the joys and sorrows of the island. He picks up plastic bottles and nylon bags from the river while fishing with his hooks and nets. Some people think he picks them up to sell as scrap.
Calling someone a "ringleader" is also a term I learned from Uncle Tư. One day, while we were resting during a break from building the embankment at the edge of the sand dune, Uncle Tư said:
- The leading force originates from this river island. The leading force is the place at the forefront of the waves and winds, the leading force is the place at the head of the islet that bears and copes with difficulties and dangers. It is the place that carries all the storms and tempests for the entire region.
The term "ringleader" refers to someone who takes the bullets and takes the blame, but over time, it has come to denote those who lead a gang specializing in illegal activities. What a pity.
***
Under the shady trees, by the pond, the ducklings were all happily munching on snails and waddling around, while the golden ducklings were engrossed in their peaceful and poetic ballet dances. Teo was holding bamboo skewers, placing each snakehead fish onto a pile of dry straw, adding another layer of straw on top, and then lighting the fire.
As soon as the straw burned out, the fish scales were charred, golden brown, and fragrant. Teo took a few straws, folded them in half, and scraped off the charred scales of the grilled snakehead fish, revealing the golden, fragrant flesh underneath, muttering to himself:
- Ba Nam, going to the market is so boring these days, isn't it?
Yeah. It's really boring.
It's a pity that the loudspeakers drown out the soulful cries of the villagers. I'm disgusted by the shrimp with their heavy heads and added impurities, the squid that's been heavily washed, and the pork that's been magically transformed into beef… It's truly heartbreaking. Whether our lives are longer or shorter depends on us. I feel sorry for the next generation; what crime did they commit to deserve this?
Bringing a basket of fresh, tender vegetables like mint and basil, along with a bowl of shrimp paste mixed with pickled papaya, Nấm's father placed it down on the neatly laid-out mat. These vegetables were from the N & T Clean Vegetable Cooperative. Nấm's father quit his job in the city, a position as a department head earning tens of millions of dong a month, to return to his hometown and persuade Tèo to start a cooperative. At the time, everyone in the neighborhood said Nấm's father was crazy.
Nothing happens by chance; there must be a reason. It all started when Mr. Mushroom bought mushrooms to cook in a hot pot for his wife's birthday, only to find they were contaminated with chemicals. As a result, the whole family and friends had to be hospitalized. That's how the nickname "Mr. Mushroom" came about.
Ba Nấm looked at the rows of golden, fragrant grilled snakehead fish and asked, "Where did you fish so many snakehead fish last night, Tèo?"
As soon as he heard that, Teo became furious. He grabbed a stick and pointed it towards Nam's father:
- Don't talk about that, I swear I never electrofished. I wanted to treat Huân to a local dish, so I asked my father-in-law for permission to use the large pond I've been using for fishing for almost a year, near Ông estuary.
And Nấm's father's question wasn't wrong, because nowadays there aren't as many fish as there were a few years ago, and catching that many snakehead fish isn't easy. And in this area, it's not uncommon for people to catch fish using electric shock, like Cu and Rem, the sons of Mr. Tấn. As soon as the tide goes out, they'll be carrying their electric shock devices.
At first, they were afraid of the officers, so they did it secretly, but now they might even inject fish in broad daylight. But Tèo has never injected fish before, so why is Mr. Nấm asking that? Realizing he had spoken out of turn, Mr. Nấm, holding a ripe, unripe banana, peeled off the thin outer skin, his mouth shut, as silent as a clam.
"It's just a small thing, why are you making such a fuss about it, Uncle Tư? If he could skewer three mushrooms, he'd probably grill them right away!" Huân said to Uncle Tư.
Huân brought out a bottle of grilled banana wine, while Uncle Tư, holding a guitar with a neck bent like a crane's neck, sat on a coconut tree that had fallen sideways across the fence. Uncle Tư knew exactly why Tèo was angry about Nấm's father's question; Nấm's father had mentioned the greatest pain in Tèo's life. That profession had made Tèo an orphan. That profession had taken the life of Uncle Tư's close friend.
***
Here's the story. Tèo's mother passed away less than a year ago, and his grief hasn't subsided. Tèo's father is Sáu Vồ, a close friend of Uncle Tư. After dinner, Sáu Vồ took Tèo down to the boat to go fishing on the main river. That was Sáu Vồ's livelihood. Meanwhile, Uncle Tư, also a night heron, was busy preparing his nets for a fishing trip on the main river.
It was during this very July tide, as Uncle Tư was casting his net, that he spotted a child struggling in the water. He pulled the child into the boat and realized it was Tèo. Tèo's boat drifted away with the current, empty, and Uncle Tư had a premonition that something was wrong.
Paddling closer, Uncle Tư saw the arm tightly bound and sticking out, and he craned his neck. Indeed, when he pulled up Sáu Vồ, he was already dead. So Tèo was orphaned, losing both his mother and father. A dark mark etched deep in the innocent memory of the seven-year-old child. Tèo was adopted by the couple, the third daughter of Nấm's father, because they had been married for over ten years without having any children.
Teo lived here and got married, and he's still living in the same house as Auntie Ba and her husband. Uncle Tu remembers that at Teo's wedding, someone said, "That blind fellow actually married the most beautiful woman in Ong Bay."
Teo's wife has a younger sister who looks exactly like her. Teo's sister-in-law is a high school biology teacher. Yesterday, Huân went to the fields and met her; she was the same girl Huân had asked for directions to Uncle Tư's house when he first arrived.
She, along with Teo and Nấm's father, researched growing vegetables using organic fertilizer. They also researched pest control methods using fish poison plant, chili peppers, garlic, and ginger, so the vegetables Nấm's father harvested were guaranteed to be clean and there was no question of picking vegetables from one plot for personal consumption and selling them from another.
***
Tèo's face was wrinkled with annoyance, but he was the most patient and quickest to forget.
Everything was laid out, and the three Mushrooms peeled the segments of the five-lobed pomelo and popped them into their mouths, chewing noisily. Everyone raised their glasses and sipped on Uncle Tư's grilled Siamese banana wine, which tasted as sweet as honey.
Uncle Tư took out his fiddle and played, the vast sound of the fiddle echoing along the river. Huân pondered, each person's river carries a different current, and everyone wants to bathe in their own river. The river, once so vast, must have been gently flowing.
If you want to bathe in a beautiful river, don't make it ugly, when the setting sun casts a red glow in the west, leaving only the petals of the mangrove flowers drifting lazily along the river...
Huân picked up a piece of fish meat, white as grapefruit blossoms, piping hot, dotted with a few sprigs of herbs and mint, dipped it in shrimp paste, and slowly chewed. Unbelievably delicious. This wasn't the first time Huân had eaten grilled snakehead fish, but he figured the deliciousness didn't come from within his heart.
Putting the guitar down, Uncle Tư turned to Huân:
- You should get married and have children; you can't live like this all alone.
"Uncle Tư, I'd like to become your son-in-law in the Mekong Delta, is that okay?" Huân immediately asked.
- You probably want to be my wife's brother-in-law, right? Tomorrow morning I'll take you to my mother-in-law's house to visit - Teo said, finishing his meal.
"No, it would be strange to suddenly show up at someone's house. I'm not going anywhere," Huân replied.
Teo continued:
- My wife's sister doesn't have two "lucky charms," that's the main charm and the subtle charm, but if you're slow, I'm afraid you might end up with both of those.
Huân then asked:
- What do you mean I don't understand?
Ba Nấm chimed in to answer:
- Oh, it's just a trick and a sneaky trick, not anything else, and don't you dare try to fool his wife's sister.
Using his chopsticks, Uncle Tư picked up a piece of golden-brown braised eel with water spinach and placed it in Huân's bowl, saying:
- Now move over a little, how can I reach the food if you're sitting so far away? If you want to get married, let me go over there and talk to Tèo's mother so you two can get acquainted.
These days, girls marry whoever they want, whether they're kept for a while or whatever, and I'm not going to be soft and hesitant; I have to be decisive, don't make the girl wait another year or two.
Huân stammered and stuttered for a long time before finally managing to speak. He promised to return soon because he wanted to become a son-in-law in the Mekong Delta.
Poor Nấm and Tèo, they spend all day busy in the garden tending to the crops, rarely getting to sit and relax like this. It took many hardships to get this cooperative working so well today. Uncle Tư said:
- Okay, kids, finish this glass and then rest before going to check on the garden. You have to work hard planting vegetables because if there's not enough water, the plants will lose their vitality and surely die, understand?
Having finished speaking, Uncle Tư stood up, picked up his guitar, and went into the house.
As night fell and he heard the night heron calling, Huân couldn't fall asleep. He remembered the gentle voice, like a breeze, whispering sincere words into his ear—the voice of the girl from the riverside region.
If Huân could have come over to my house to play at this hour, he would have already done so. Then I remembered Uncle Tư's words: "Life is short, do what you can, don't dwell on yourself and end up feeling sad."
Then he thought, what Uncle Tư and Huân's friends did was just a drop in the river, but the river would be much smaller without that drop. Huân felt so ashamed of himself…
***
Back in the city, with his mind ready for work early in the morning, Huân will become a drop of water in the flow of the river.
HOAI THUONG
Source: https://baovinhlong.com.vn/van-hoa-giai-tri/tac-gia-tac-pham/202512/truyen-ngan-mot-giot-nuoc-f2b4ec6/
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