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| Illustration: Tran Thang (Vinh Long City) |
(VLO) The sun has fallen on the garden planted with gladiolus, dahlias, lilies, daisies… The garden glows with splendid red, purple and yellow colors. The green grass is wet with dew. I followed the path, which was paved with smooth stones, winding on both sides of the blooming flowers, leading to a small pond with several species of ornamental fish.
Cool breeze. My mother's house is located in the heart of the city, but every time I return and walk through the gate, I think that I am living in the middle of a peaceful garden, in a remote and peaceful countryside. Around the house are ponds and lakes, lush four seasons trees.
All are cultivated and nurtured by my mother's hand, with the simple desire that every time we return home, we will be able to see flowers, hand-cut fresh bouquets of flowers and put them on the altar of my father, who is paralyzed. soldiers died in the last days before the war ended.
"Is everything all right, baby?" My mother asked from the room.
"It's done, mother, just waiting for the arrival of two brothers and sisters to go to our house," I replied.
Mother said nothing more. We grew up, some have a wife, some have a husband, have the oldest child, but still often gather with our mother to have fun at home.
With her mother at that time, only Ut and Ut's daughter remained, that is, my granddaughter. The marriage soon broke down, so Ut took the child to live with his mother, said he would not marry again, and stayed there for the rest of his life.
I am both happy and worried. Ut is with his mother, we feel secure, but if one day his mother returns to heaven because no one can resist fate, then Ut will be alone for a lifetime. I said that if Ut meets someone who truly loves Ut, then Ut should also open up, his father in another world will also be happy to see Ut happy. Ut smiled gently.
Ut and Hoa took care of everything. Baby Hoa is young but understands the story, lives next to my mother - a woman who has experienced war and peace, both traditional and very modern, trendy, little Hoa is properly taught and understands that These days are extremely important to express gratitude to those who died for the Fatherland.
My wife and I arranged flowers on the altar of our father and sat waiting for Hai. My brother Hai is probably the most successful of the three brothers, just like a model man, taking care of his family. He does not live with his mother, but has a house nearby to visit her easily.
We all understand that mom has spent her whole life raising her children, loving us unconditionally, so we have to live responsibly, not only for our family but also for society.
Hai's car came and parked in front of the house. Little Flower ran into the room to call her grandmother. My mother came out. The house was suddenly strangely quiet. We looked at each other, listening to the beating of warm hearts in the chest. My mother fixed the silver bun at the nape of her neck with her hand, and pulled back the two hem of her ao dai.
"Do you look weird?" My mother was confused.
- No, it's very beautiful!- My brother walked in and said- In our eyes, you are the most beautiful.
My mother awkwardly turned her face to look up at my father's altar. On the altar is an old, black and white photo. That is the image of my father in the days when he was young and enthusiastic, with love for his family and concern for the country. Mother probably wanted her father to see her still healthy and beautiful in the national ao dai so that he could have peace of mind.
We got in the car. Sister Hai sat in the back, giving my mother the front seat. My sisters and I kept chatting from home to the martyrs cemetery.
Only Hoa is car sick, so her face is slightly grimacing and she puts her nose in the prepared tangerine peel. I smile. She is the right kind of farmer, kind and sincere.
Mr. Hai carefully drove on the winding road under the shade of green trees on both sides of the road in the city leading to the suburbs.
My mother looked out the doorway. What are you thinking, you look so wistful. I know my mother is happy and sad. Mom misses Dad and cherishes our memories of him. Mom loved her father deeply, so she chose not to go any further, wholeheartedly worrying about us.
Mother lives with the memories to be close to the three of us, raising us to be human. We are the pride of our mother.
In the days of July, the martyrs' cemetery smoked incense. We followed the path between two rows of solemn graves to the end of the road. The graves of his father and a few unknown comrades lie under the cool Bodhi tree.
We stopped, arranged our furniture in front of the grave, arranged lilies, and gladly placed them in a filled vase. The sweet scent of flowers mixed with the scent of smoke mingled with my nose.
My eyes sting, but not from the smoke. My mother burned incense for my father first, then it was our turn. I know that my mother and my brothers all have something to talk about with their father, but no one says it out loud. Father will understand what we think.
Mother came and sat next to her father's grave, wiped the dust off the stele with a towel, and whispered:
- More than forty years have passed, the day your father passed away. I still remember that day...
Mother's eyes looked up at the blue sky. The stream of memories brought her back to the old years, when the war was about to come to an end. That day, my mother met my father on the battlefield of the South. Her father is the main force in the army, and her mother is a young volunteer on the Truong Son route.
Parents met a few times and then fell in love. Wedding held in the unit, simple and warm. After giving birth to us, my mother returned to take care of, raise, and become a solid rear for my father on the front lines. I don't have too many memories of my father, partly because I was too young that day.
If you remember, it's just the times when you ran after your father's hand when he said goodbye to your mother and we went to the battlefield. Just remember that! And in my mother is a heaven of beautiful memories.
One day, as the war was about to end, my mother received word that my father had died on the battlefield. Mother was silent. Our brothers and sisters at that time did not understand much about the pain they experienced, so they could only cry and ask for their father.
The memento that my father's teammates brought home and gave it to my mother was a blue hat with a star on the front. Mom has kept that memento until now. It was the embodiment of the father that the mother never lost.
Peacefully, my father was taken to the martyrs cemetery to lie next to other comrades who also died after devoting himself to the country and people.
In this place, every day, every hour, my father watched his country change - a country made up of the blood and bones of many fallen generations, watched us grow up and live responsibly. I know my father will be pleased with the nine streams.
Mother's eyes were wet. I sat behind her and hugged her tightly, resting my chin on her shoulder, listening to every heartbeat in my mother's chest. Mother's heart has also been beating for the country.
The cemetery is crowded today but not noisy. Everyone kept their absolute dignity. We were busy telling each other stories about our father, about war and peace, about the value of happiness in exchange for many losses and sacrifices.
Until I looked back, I saw little Hoa retreating to burn incense for the graves next to me, running far into the distance. My heart is soft. The kid really knows.
The sun was already high in the sky, at noon, the birds stopped singing on the branches to fly in search of prey and the cemetery was also less crowded than before. We put our things in the basket and left. My mother wiped away her tears, touched her father's photo again, smiled and said:
– The soon-to-be father stayed with his teammates, me and the children returned! Hello my comrade.
As I was about to go to the cemetery gate, I still saw my mother turn her head to look one more time before getting into the car with peace of mind. Every parting is bittersweet, nostalgic.
My parents have always been my pride. A young girl volunteered on the arterial Truong Son route. A soldier who has lived his life to the fullest with his family and country, "Destined to die for the Fatherland to live".
A stooped silver-haired man watched time pass between his fingers, watching the country change and the children into beauty. One person lay down peacefully in exchange for peace for the nation.
Every time I teach in class, in front of dozens of students, teach works on the topic of the country, read verses: "When there is a war, the son goes to war/ The daughter returns to raise the children with her children... How many children are there... Girls and boys/ Among the four thousand classes of people my age/ They lived and died/ Simple and calm…” (Nguyen Khoa Diem), I again saw my parents' silhouettes appearing before my eyes - human beings. courage and love, loyalty to the people and the country.
The house door opened. In our house there was a strange light. The sun shines into the house, illuminating each brick. The flower on my father's altar is in full bloom, emitting a fragrance that fills the air...
HOANG KHANH DUY
