Short story: Summer to remember

( Quang Ngai Newspaper) - The street is located far from the center, no business is possible, so all the families with average incomes come to live there. Nine adjacent houses are at least two stories high, with new paint, only the last house has a flat corrugated iron roof.

The street was short so all the rules were strictly followed. But it was always the same, only from house number one to house number nine, then stopped. The owner of house number ten was a young girl who was staying there. The house was closed all day. When asked, the owner would say in a dazed voice: "What do you know?", "Oh, really?" Mrs. Nhan, the head of the area, considered that girl a god, turned a blind eye to the matter to avoid getting high blood pressure.

In the summer, electricity bills skyrocket. Parents start to come up with ways to keep their children occupied without spending money. Some families send their children on three days of hands-on experience for millions, but they are also worried that their children will be hyperactive and mischievous. Some parents text their children to go to summer school, and the teacher advises: "You should let your children relax after a year of school so they don't lose their childhood." Oh, if you let them go find their childhood, will it be reported to the "house" or "neighborhood"? Glass doors break, potted plants are "broken", water is everywhere, cats and dogs run around...

Mrs. Nhan thought of a way, so she called a meeting of the parents in the neighborhood. Every parent came back from the meeting feeling as excited as if they had just defused a time bomb in their house. On Monday morning, the older and younger children eagerly brought their books to the head of the district's house. The old teacher, who had been teaching children for thirty years, carefully wrote the poem on the board in neat handwriting like a golden ruler. But when she returned, alas, she had only slippers and slippers left, they had sneaked out there to climb trees, pick fruits, and splash water on each other like a group of pirates. She tried to shout at them, but they were deaf and dumb... Mrs. Nhan was tired, lying flat on the bed, a towel on her forehead, the fan turned on low, she felt like she was about to have a fever. Just like that, half awake, half asleep, she sank into memories of that day.

That year, Nhan was just over thirty years old. Every morning, she transported vegetables from the villages to the city. The price difference was not much, some days it was pouring rain, some days it was sunny, she had to open her mouth to breathe, but she sold them to relieve her boredom. Gradually, Nhan realized that the people who joined her team were all in the same predicament. One woman's husband brought his mistress to live with him, if he were offended and left, he would lose everything, so he tried to stay and save for his child. One man's child had a terminal illness, and he had to pay for medicine to keep his child with him. Some people had a happy family but were deeply in debt because their children's businesses failed. Having children was hard, but "not knowing how to give birth" like Nhan was even more miserable.

That morning, for some reason, Nhan woke up before the alarm clock. She put on her helmet, started the engine and drove off into the cold autumn mist. The market was deserted, usually at this time the old lady in the corner would have lit a fire to boil green tea. Nhan sat huddled, trying to chew the bread but her mouth was bitter. Somewhere in the distance, there was the sound of a baby crying, probably the market manager's child, crying because his mother had lost her milk, drinking formula made him hungry quickly. But he and his wife had taken him to his grandparents' house yesterday. A gust of wind blew down her spine, making the hairs on the back of Nhan's neck stand up. It took her a few minutes to regain her courage before she walked to the corner of the market. In front of her were a few stray dogs surrounding an old styrofoam box that someone had left behind. An abandoned little girl...

The saleswomen advised Nhan to take the child home to raise, but in the end she could only send her to a social welfare center. She did not have a stable income, nor was she determined enough to fight against her husband's prejudice. Then, the little girl grew up like a brave tree or blade of grass. Nhan often stopped by the gate but only stood at the gate and watched her from afar. She loved to play with the buffaloes, ducks, and pigs that she carved from pieces of wood, from old bamboo roots, from dolls woven from straw she found on the street... God had given her a creative soul and skillful hands. Nhan was afraid that if she met her, she would not be able to hold back her tears.

One day, Nhan waited for a long time but did not see the girl playing with toys under the rosewood tree as usual. Seeing Nhan looking around, a cleaning lady came over.
- You asked to buy scrap?
- No. I want to ask about a little girl who plays under that tree. Is she sick?
Oh, Nguyet is skillful, isn't she? She was adopted by a kind family. They just picked her up yesterday afternoon...
Nhan dropped her helmet, dropped her keys, but perhaps she was dropping something bigger. “Why do I love her so much? Oh my God, how could I be so foolish as to lose the child I picked up from the trash can, inhaled the scent of her sweat until my chest was full.” A mother who loves her child does not necessarily need to have sweet milk, nine months of pregnancy and labor, but only needs every cell in her to be filled with a desire to sacrifice her whole life for that little creature.

The following days, Nhan stopped eating, she wandered the streets to see children around Nguyet's age. She felt thirsty like someone walking in the desert. Thirsty for her face, thirsty for her laughter, thirsty to see her figure to the point of sickness. Nhan unconsciously touched her chest and saw that the pendant had disappeared. It wasn't worth much money, but it was the only thing her mother had left behind when they went to the jewelry store in Hanoi to buy it. Where was it, where was it, why did everything just leave her like that? Her mind was so confused that she couldn't remember anything anymore...

This morning, the whole neighborhood was awakened by the noisy sounds of children. They were shouting like an army, not like usual. Mrs. Nhan got up, her mouth was bitter, her body was exhausted but she still tried to open the door to look out. To her, the children in the neighborhood, although not related by blood, were the most precious thing in this difficult life.
What is that? She rubbed her eyes, each child wore a strangely painted bamboo hat, one was cleaning the trash, one was scraping the walls like a well-trained army. But at this rate, this neighborhood would soon be in chaos, after all, she still liked its old order. She ran into the house to put on her glasses, grabbed her hat and walked out, several parents were also standing with their hands on their hips surrounding the fence at the end of the alley. It turned out that on that moldy wall was gradually appearing a unique painting that she had seen people draw in the fishing village of Tam Thanh, Quang Nam .

MH: VO VAN

Everyone was in an uproar, someone shouted: "Where is my old flower pot?", another wondered: "Why does it look like our old tire?". But after a few minutes, compliments started to come in: "The kids are so skillful", "Luckily there is someone who knows how to teach children like Ms. Nguyet", "So their niece has secretly organized this group for a long time"... Mrs. Nhan pushed her way through the crowd, her pride made her face frown, an anger that was hard to swallow. She stared at the daughter in front of her. She was wearing cropped jeans, a rough T-shirt, her skin was tanned but her eyes lit up with something very familiar.

- Who gave you permission to...
The girl looked up, suddenly the necklace hanging from her collar fell down, making Mrs. Nhan see it clearly, she was startled. The pendant, who else did it belong to, she only had time to say: "It's mine... Nguyet, my child..." then her face darkened.

Mrs. Nhan woke up in Nguyet's house. She glanced at the shabby house with a kettle, a rice cooker, a few bowls and an easel... Once, yes, that was the time the little girl had angrily snatched the pendant and resolutely refused to let go and return it to her. Loneliness had made her stubborn, her little hand clenched tightly like a stubborn little animal. She ignored it, she pampered it, considered it as her own flesh and blood.
Now his hand was holding hers, he was changing the neighborhood, leading the children and returning to her like a dream.
- My adoptive mother passed away after I graduated. I became an art teacher and changed schools several times. I don't know how I ended up here... What about you?

Mrs. Nhan just smiled, she didn't want to tell him about the rest of her life after the divorce, at this moment her eyes lit up with joy.
In the following days, people saw Mrs. Nhan hurriedly mixing sour plum juice and lemon juice to “support” Nguyet and the children who were enthusiastically transforming this sad neighborhood into a strange, green, and clean space. It seemed that summer had brought joy to the whole neighborhood. A truly memorable summer.

BUI VIET PHUONG

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Source: https://baoquangngai.vn/van-hoa/van-hoc/202408/truyen-ngan-mua-he-dang-nho-c340c90/