Towards the land of love

Towards the land of love

Short stories by Dinh Ngoc

It was early winter morning. It was raining. The wind howled through the cracks in the doors, cutting into the very fabric of our clothes. In the dilapidated, old classroom, the children, seemingly chilled by the cold, huddled by the door, gazing at the brand-new classrooms springing up, their eyes glistening.

"Soon we'll be going to a new school, and there won't be any more rain or wind, right, Thuong?" Van nudged Y Thuong.

Standing right next to them, Y Thuong couldn't hear anything. Neither could Van. They were just asking for the sake of asking, and it wasn't just the two of them; the whole class, like other classes in the school, was engrossed in admiring and scrutinizing the beautiful school during breaks. Some had even managed to climb over the corrugated iron fence to the other side, and upon returning, excitedly recounted how beautiful and wonderful it was, with aluminum doors, white glass, and spacious classrooms…

***

I was a reporter from the district radio station assigned to cover the provincial delegation's visit to Giot Giot Primary School for the inauguration of the new school building. On the way from the district to the village, the conversation was like popcorn popping. Tran Long, a businessman from Hanoi , enthusiastically talked about the lives of the local people and the children's joy at going to school.

"The school is way over there, high up on the mountain, behind the white clouds!" Long said as the car arrived at the center of Vinh An commune. "The teachers' journey to school is much more difficult than ours. Let's leave early."

Mr. Long was as welcoming as a son greeting a guest visiting his home. We had heard of businessman Tran Long's deep connection to and understanding of Giot Giot village, but to know it to this extent surprised not only the district leaders but also me.

The road into the village was getting wider, but the incessant rain over the past few days had softened the gravel surface into a sticky, muddy mess. Luckily, thanks to prior warnings, everyone was wearing sandals or plastic flip-flops suitable for navigating the slippery, muddy path.

This morning, the schoolyard was bustling with activity as Bana children arrived for school in their new clothes; the school grounds and classrooms smelled of fresh paint and were spotlessly bright. Elder Dinh Huong, a respected figure in Giot Giot village, was also at school early, dressed in his traditional ethnic attire. Yesterday, the school announced that the elders would be coming this morning to inaugurate the school and give Tet gifts to the children, so everyone was happy. Watching the children, who seemed a little shy but whose joy was evident in their radiant smiles, everyone seemed to forget the long walk they had just made.

Oh, Long, you've come back to the village again, haven't you?

Old Lady Dinh Huong hugged Long tightly.

- Yes, Uncle, I've come back to visit my relatives again!

Long addressed the elderly Mr. Dinh Huong as "Uncle," affectionately, like a son calling his father. He took Mr. Dinh Huong's thin hands, helping him to his seat so the inauguration ceremony could begin. The rain had stopped, but gusts of wind were blowing fiercely.

Paintings by artist Truong Dinh Dung

All the students at Giot Giot Primary School are Bana people. The school was established very early, in the first years after the liberation of South Vietnam. Although it received investment from the province, district, and other levels of government, the remote location, mountainous terrain, and dilapidated facilities were unavoidable challenges. Despite this, the Vinh An commune government made efforts to encourage the people and care for the teachers, so despite the school's dilapidated state, teaching and learning here were very promising. To the point that throughout Tay Son district, all levels of government agreed that no one cared more about the teachers and medical staff than the people of Vinh An, especially in Giot Giot. But what fortunate circumstance led a businessman from far-off Hanoi like Tran Long to contribute billions of dong to build the school and a staff housing complex for teachers, and even visit the site every few months to check on the construction? It was so confusing; I was working, following the events, and wondering about it all at once. At times, I even completely forgot about the school's inauguration ceremony, which was like a big, lively celebration filled with the laughter and chatter of students, teachers, and parents.

My unease carried over into the conversation and subsequent interview, so strong that even though we had made an appointment and he had happily agreed, I still felt uneasy and apprehensive… Finally, unable to hold back, I asked him directly:

- Sir, no one would be so impolite as to start an interview like I did, but there's a question that's been bothering me. You own a construction company in Hanoi, and I understand your company has been doing business in Binh Dinh for many years and is currently working on a large project in Quy Nhon. If you wanted to express your responsibility to the community or give back to the local area, you could have done so in Quy Nhon or nearby. Why go to such a remote district, to a secluded village like this? Is there anything special about this? If it's not too personal, I hope you...

I awkwardly left it unfinished here!

Perhaps I looked so funny that Long suddenly smiled, hugged a small Bana child to his chest, turned to smile brightly at old Dinh Huong, whose eyes shone with happiness, and then cheerfully replied:

- This is a very private matter! But I can still tell you. You've raised a very reasonable question. But I'll just say one thing and you'll understand. This is my father's last wish.

Already impressed by Long's ability to navigate the muddy path and his familiarity with the village, and hearing about his "father's last wish," I eagerly moved closer, almost forgetting my position as interviewer.

***

"I am a son of Tay Son homeland, and I've always held that belief in my heart," Long began his story.

My father was a soldier in the 3rd Golden Star Division, established in September 1965 in Hoai An. My father recounted that the Golden Star Division was born at a time when the people and soldiers of Binh Dinh were confronting tens of thousands of American, South Vietnamese, and allied troops. From then on, it became a source of faith, support, and immense encouragement, inextricably linked to the Binh Dinh battlefield. After its establishment, the Golden Star Division and its affiliated units were ordered to gradually move into the operational area. From Vinh Thanh, crossing the Bo Bo pass through Binh Khe, my father's unit was assigned the secret mission of stationing itself in this Giot Giot village.

From the end of September to the end of December 1965, enemy planes continuously bombed the valley near the village, filling the sky with smoke and fire. One morning, sensing movement from our side, the enemy sent dozens of planes to drop bombs on the valley. Before the bombing ceased, swarms of armed helicopters swooped in, relentlessly firing rockets and machine guns at the remaining bushes and mounds of earth in the areas where the enemy was preparing to land troops. In that battle, my father was seriously wounded; he survived thanks to the protection and help of the people of Giọt Giọt village.

At this point, he looked affectionately at old Dinh Huong, while the children still frolicked in the schoolyard, the biting cold wind still blowing in gusts.

"Back then, I was a young local guerrilla fighter. That day, I found Comrade Cuong lying at the foot of the mountain, his breath weak. After helping him back to the bunker, I saw a lot of blood coming from his stomach, so I rushed home to get a bottle of wine from the altar and a wedding veil. I ran back to the bunker to wash the wound and tore the veil to bandage Cuong's wound. At that time, because of the heavy blood loss, Cuong fainted. I quickly put him on a stretcher and, with the help of the villagers, took him to the hospital for emergency treatment," Old Man Dinh Huong recounted, his eyes suddenly filled with profound sadness. "While taking Comrade Cuong to the hospital, my house was hit by a bomb. When I returned home, my wife and son were lying on the ground…"

After a long silence, Long continued:

- My father's health gradually recovered, but his wounds were severe, and he had to stay at the home of old woman Dinh Huong for a long time to recuperate. My grandmother was poor, but she always saved whatever delicious food she could find from the forest and streams to nourish my father. If it weren't for old woman Dinh Huong and the villagers of Giot Giot, my father wouldn't have had the chance to survive, to work, and I wouldn't be who I am today. My father always reminded me to remember, to be grateful, and to love the land that sheltered him during his most perilous times. There's nothing better than supporting and contributing to the development and progress of our homeland. That was my father's last wish!

- Dad Long, look at the shirts you bought for us last time, aren't they nice?

Little Y Thuong was orphaned, having lost both her parents, and lived with her maternal grandmother from a young age. Long loved her like his own daughter. From morning till now, while playing in the schoolyard, she kept a close eye on her affectionate father, but knowing he was busy, she only came to show him off now.

***

Time flies by in the blink of an eye. It feels like just yesterday, but another year is almost over. On the eve of the New Year, I'd like to share an important decision: this Tet holiday, I'm taking the whole family back to Tay Son to celebrate.

As soon as she heard Long's words, old Dinh Huong's eyes lit up, and she happily clasped his hand, speechless.

"My father has passed away. My wife, originally from Saigon, wanted to go south to celebrate spring in the warm sunshine, while the children wanted to travel abroad. But in the end, the whole family listened to my mother and decided to return to Tay Son, to Binh Dinh, to make a pilgrimage to the land of the King, to the place where my father was born once again..." Long lowered his voice, solemnly, as if he were praying for something sacred.

Gently taking the old woman Dinh Huong's hand, Long stood up, his eyes scanning the vast schoolyard.

- I will take my children to visit the Quang Trung Museum, offer incense at the temple dedicated to the three Tây Sơn heroes and their civil and military officials... to better understand the early days of the resounding Tây Sơn uprising and the glorious victories of the heroic commoner who was victorious in countless battles. Above all, my children will get to revisit the place where their grandfather fought, a place where people of limited education lived, but with unwavering loyalty and a willingness to sacrifice, all for the sake of peace and prosperity for their homeland.

Long was overjoyed. Looking out from the schoolyard, the earth and sky were subtly shifting, most clearly audible was the gentle rustling of young shoots pushing through the soil. The village of Giọt Giọt, once so vibrant, was now more prosperous than before thanks to the attention of the Party, the State, and people like Long who love their homeland and cherish the past.

Source: https://baobinhdinh.vn/viewer.aspx?macm=18&macmp=20&mabb=300520