"I think I'll join the other young people in the city to find work soon, Grandma. I'll try to save up a few dollars each month to send back. I don't know how I'm going to manage anymore." After lying there calculating and debating all morning, Thành spoke up when he saw his grandmother return, as if afraid to speak again in the face of her heavy heart. His grandmother said nothing, only suppressing a sigh before preparing to cook. The child was asleep. Nhàn came out, a gentle smile still lingering on her face, a hint of sadness from the events of two years ago, which stunned Thành. Nhàn took the basket from his grandmother's hand and softly said, "Let me cook."
Thành looked at his wife, not understanding why so many thoughts were stuck in his throat, not knowing how to continue the conversation with her. He had only considered this option out of necessity; who would want to leave their warm, comfortable home, however small and old, their own sanctuary, to huddle in a tiny rented room with a sweltering tin roof? No one wants to leave their birthplace to throw themselves into a strange, foreign land.
The old woman calmly said, "You have to figure out how to make things right. I'm old now, and Nhan is like this. Since little Tam came along, she seems more alert, she knows how to clean the house, and now she can even cook a meal. At this age, I wonder if any companies or factories would even hire her. As for the child, God has brought her to our home…"
Thành knew. He couldn't bear to leave his elderly mother, his sick wife, and a child behind like that. But Thành didn't know how he would recover. Just as life was starting to improve and things were beginning to look up after years of hard work and sweat, storm after storm, flood after flood swept through, wiping everything away.
The vast field that once held so many dreams for Thanh is now nothing but layers of gray earth. Beneath the knee-deep mud lies the fruit of his hard work, sweat, and tears. Yet, in a single night, everything was lost. The melon field he invested all his borrowed money in is now just a patch of land scarred by the flood. His plan to expand his high-tech agricultural model in his hometown has also vanished, leaving him with nothing but his bare hands.
But they weren't completely penniless either. The flood brought Thành and his wife a child, a child about the same age as their deceased child. Returning from their refuge, his mother found little Tâm… up in a tree. For some reason, while all the trees in the garden were destroyed, the grapefruit tree that Thành's father had planted when he left for military service remained standing, with only a few broken branches. His mother said that heaven took pity on the orphaned child, and that his father's spirit had guided the child to their home for refuge. Thành led the child to find her family, but her parents had been swept away by the flood, and her grandparents had long since passed away. The horrific memories had left the little girl with no memory; she clung to Nhàn, calling for her mother. Nhàn hugged her tightly, as if she had found her lost child, who was also about 5 years old. Thành completed the adoption process and named her Tâm. The little girl was very well-behaved, always chattering and asking Nhàn all sorts of questions. My grandmother said that perhaps God took pity on Thanh and his wife because they were kind and gentle people, but had a difficult time having children, which is why He sent the little girl to them.
Since having the baby, Nhàn's headaches have stopped tormenting her. She no longer wanders aimlessly, sometimes crying, sometimes laughing, sometimes screaming and hurting herself. The couple are from the same village; Thành served in the army, and after his discharge, they got married. They are both hardworking and diligent, so their life isn't wealthy, but they have enough to eat and live comfortably. The only problem is that they've been late in having children. After many attempts at treatment, they finally had one child, so Nhàn loves her very much, gazing at, hugging, and kissing her cheek all day long without getting tired.
One day, while Thành was in a neighboring district studying a high-tech agricultural model to apply back home, he received devastating news. In just a few short minutes, Nhàn poured a sack of rice onto the drying yard, and little Hạnh ran after a ball to the gate. A truck carrying construction materials sped down the slope. Nhàn went mad from that moment on. She blamed herself for not watching her child carefully, allowing her to die so tragically and painfully. Every time he saw his wife smile innocently and then suddenly burst into tears, his heart felt like it was being torn in two.
His mother went to the temple to ask for amulets and blessings. Thanh traveled from the provincial hospital to the central hospital, searching for a doctor to treat his wife. But the doctor said Nhan's illness was due to immense psychological trauma, and it needed time... But time is something that can only be measured by waiting. His wife's parents planned to take Nhan back home. Thanh was an only child, and he was getting older every day. Thanh's mother was very angry: "Do you think my family is so heartless and ungrateful? Nhan is my daughter-in-law, Thanh's wife, and no matter what, her husband and I will still love and care for her." Thanh's mother and his wife's mother hugged each other and cried. Only Nhan remained naive like a child, standing there bewildered, asking who had taken Hanh away to play and why she hadn't come back. Thanh planned that after a successful melon harvest, when the prices were good, he would take Nhan for treatment and then have an intervention to have a child. He hoped that having a child would ease Nhan's pain. But unexpectedly, their wish was buried in a devastating flood.
Nhàn served the meal, inviting her mother and husband to eat. Thành stared in astonishment at the table, which consisted only of a plate of boiled vegetables, a bowl of soup, and a few eggs, yet seemed like a feast of delicacies. His eyes welled up with tears. The newly renovated house, still patched up and with mud stains on the walls, suddenly felt warm again. It had been so long since he'd eaten a home-cooked meal. Little Tâm had woken up and was whining, wanting to be held. Nhàn hugged Tâm close, her eyes filled with tenderness and love. Her mother was right; perhaps Tâm had been sent to mend the pain, the broken pieces of memory in Thành and his wife's hearts.
- Go eat your meal, stop staring at me. You need to eat so you have the strength to get the melon garden back on track, repair the house, and build the kitchen. Next year, little Tam will be starting first grade.
Hearing his wife's gentle reminder, Thanh couldn't hold back any longer. Tears fell into his bowl of rice, but he didn't find them salty. His mother pressed an old, worn-out cloth bag into his hand, still tucked in with several safety pins in her shirt. Three gold coins, a gift from his uncles when the land inherited from his grandparents was slated for demolition and compensation to build a high-tech agricultural application guidance center. Her voice was soft but warm. She didn't have much; she had intended to leave this little to Nhan when she returned to her father, but now she wanted her to rebuild. As long as the land and people remained, they could still get back on their feet. She heard the village head announce that the commune was also compiling damage reports for provincial support. Houses that collapsed would be repaired. Those who lost crops or livestock would receive capital and seeds to rebuild. Provinces unaffected by the disaster were also calling for support for those severely affected. They still had land, family, and people to rely on; surely they could overcome this.
Thành sat silently. Three gold rings might not be worth much to others, but to his grandmother, it was her entire life's savings from a lifetime of hard work. The bag in his hand was heavy. Heavy with affection, heavy with gratitude, and heavy with the silent hopes and dreams of an old woman who had weathered countless storms in life.
Lost in thought, Thanh heard a motorbike stop in front of the gate. Nhan's younger brother entered, his shirt still dusty, carrying a bag of construction tools. He only had time to greet his mother and siblings before thrusting a wad of money, still smelling of mortar, into Thanh's hand: "This is my wages, plus Dad's savings. I was planning to renovate the kitchen, but Mom and Dad told me to bring it over so you can redo the melon garden. The kitchen is still good; it won't break for years. Okay? I'm going home to rest. Tomorrow morning I'm going to a new construction project in Ninh Binh . It's a big project, probably going to take a year to finish. I've been busy repainting the kindergarten since morning, and before I even changed my clothes, Dad told me to bring this over to you. Oh, I just saw Hung, the village policeman, looking for people to help row the boat to take the kids from Doan Ket village to school while waiting for the suspension bridge to be repaired. I remember you used to be the best swimmer in the village; if you could help, please call Hung."
My brother-in-law kissed little Tam on the cheek, promising to buy her a new dress next month for school and dance classes, so she could dress up however she liked, and then hurried away. When Tam heard that the kindergarten had been repainted, she hugged her mother and begged to go to school. The voices of mother and daughter, grandmother and granddaughter, chirped in the house, which was just recovering from the devastation and loss.
Tomorrow, Thanh will start all over again, rebuilding the melon trellis, improving the soil, and finding new varieties. He knows it will be hard work. But he's not alone. He has his mother, his wife, little Tam, his siblings, relatives, and the love of people he's never even met. On the cracked mud, young shoots begin to push through the soil, resilient like the people here, enduring countless storms and still standing strong, reviving.
Source: https://phunuvietnam.vn/truyen-ngan-mua-hy-vong-2382606011443521.htm
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