 |
| Illustration: Phan Nhan |
Rach Bong Dua - that rustic and poetic name suddenly echoed in my mind.
Three years ago, I stood in a daze in front of a house built in the old Southern style, with a collapsed tiled roof, patchy paint on the walls, a chipped door, and collapsed bricks on the floor... and whispered, loud enough for me to hear: "I will definitely come back here, because this is my origin!"
Until now, I still have not had the chance to return. My heart is sad and desolate. A deep pain for my roots keeps lingering in my subconscious…
*
I no longer have many memories of the familiar faces in that house. Partly because I was too young at that time, partly because time passed too quickly, the day I returned, there was no one there. The memory that remained in me was a lush durian garden, full of fruit in season. From inside the house, a winding stone path led to the durian garden. The path wound through the durian garden where when I was young, I often walked leisurely on afternoon visits to my father. Back then, I had a pigtail, wore a sky-blue bamboo blouse, cotton pants, held my father's soft hand and walked in the afternoon sunlight shining through the durian leaves, shimmering like the wind blowing thousands of glitters.
My father's hands are so soft! My mother says my hands are like his, not the hands of a hard worker.
But my father's life was hard, he built this whole durian garden by himself. My father lived a hard life, wearing an old, patched shirt that was still flimsy through many sunny and rainy seasons. Whenever talking about my father, my mother's eyes always shone with deep pride. On weekends, my mother often rowed a boat to take me to Bong Dua canal to visit my father, she sat in the back of the boat, I sat in the front, occasionally I reached out to scoop up some cool water or randomly picked a purple water hyacinth flower. My mother said that water hyacinth flowers are the soul of our homeland's rivers and waters. I held the flower branch up to see the sunlight falling on the sparkling river surface. I sat huddled watching the sunset, my heart still fluttering when the boat docked, my father would come down to hold my hand, my mother's hand would step up and whisper countless stories.
*
The image of my father is always beautiful in my mind. Until now…
Once, I asked my mother:
- Mom! Dad loves us so much, why don't we live with him?
My mother remained silent and did not reply. The wind from the Bong Dua canal blew into the house, carrying the strong scent of newly sprouted corn. A moment later, my mother replied:
- There are things you can't understand. You're too young! When you grow up, I will explain.
I mumbled something to get it over with, but I was still certain about my mother's answer. A half-hearted answer that left me unsatisfied. The question mark in my mind grew even bigger.
My father is still the same, quietly working day and night in the durian garden, taking care of my grandmother's grave, planting flowers on both sides of the stone path leading from the river to the house because when she was young, my mother loved all kinds of red and green flowers. I noticed that every time my mother visited my father, my father was very happy. My father smiled, and his eyes sparkled with happiness. At that young age, I still understood how important my mother and I were in my father's heart.
I rubbed my head against my father's chest. The durian garden was green and shady, surrounding my three children. My father cleared his throat a few times. The wind had changed, and my father was coughing. Before leaving, my mother stopped by the coriander patch on the sidewalk to pick some celery leaves for my father to use as medicine. I whispered to my father just like I did to my mother, and my father just smiled gently without explaining why. After a while of silence, my father whispered something exactly like what my mother had said to me. I expressed my anger towards my father, left his warm chest, and walked straight into the house. My father was smiling behind me, watching my figure.
The yellow sun disappeared.
*
The trips to visit my father continued, and I had the opportunity to admire the Bong Dua canal during both the rainy and sunny seasons. My mother took me on the boat in the rainy afternoons and on the beautiful sunny days. It seemed like every time, whenever I went to my father’s house, I was happy, but when I returned, I was sad, especially when I saw my father still standing at the riverbank watching my mother and me until the night fell and his shadow disappeared and the sound of the palm trees made the river water sad…
Since I was a child, I have been afraid of changes in life. From big changes to small changes. Like the weekend afternoons, the sunny afternoons with my mother visiting my father had become a habit, now that it has changed, I find myself unable to bear it. The afternoons when I should have gone to my father's house, now I sit in front of the row of father drying my hair, suddenly I feel bored and meaningless. My heart is so lonely! I absentmindedly look at the silent boat at the wharf. My mother still quietly lights the fire, cooks rice. The smell of smoke from the kitchen lingers in the air.
I looked at my mother for a long time. I asked softly:
- Mom, why don't we visit dad like before?
My mother covered the pot of freshly-made rice, the aroma wafted into my nose. After a moment of silence, she said:
- From now on I won't visit dad anymore, are you sad?
I nodded, feeling as if tears were about to spill over and roll down my cheeks.
My mother continued:
- Don't be sad! You will understand what I'm doing now.
I didn’t understand, my heart was in turmoil. Mom didn’t care whether I understood or not, but for a long time, Mom and I no longer swayed on the small boat across Bong Dua canal to visit Dad in the red sunset…
*
It was only after I grew up and finished high school that my mother brought up the old story, reminding me of my father's memories. To help me understand why my mother did not take me by small boat in the afternoons to my father's house, so that he could hold my hand and walk in the durian garden full of leaves.
My mother said in tears that I was born in an unusual situation. Back then, my mother, because she trusted a strange man, left my father's old-style house with a durian garden, left Bong Dua canal to follow the man who promised to bring her a warm and prosperous life. My mother wiped her tears and confessed that when she was young, she felt she did not belong to this remote place, she could not live all day in the house doing the jobs that women in this place usually do like cooking, washing dishes... She was tired of the sound of the palm trees chirping in the afternoon dew, tired of the nightly power outages, the deserted neighborhood without a soul, without a single sound of life...
“You are a city person. You must live in a luxurious place, have a car pick you up when you go out…” - The man’s words that year still echo in mother’s subconscious, haunting her dreams.
Then my mother left the Coconut Creek in the early days of the rainy season. At that time, my mother did not know that inside her there was another life growing and developing day by day. That life was me.
My mother’s days in the city were not long. The vision that the strange man painted for my mother was not as she expected. When he discovered that my mother was pregnant, the strange man turned his back on her and betrayed her in the same way she had betrayed my father. When the time came to give birth, my mother decided to return to the countryside, because after all, life in the countryside was easier. At that time, my mother knew to accept…
But my mother did not return to my father. She asked someone to build a small thatched house in the next village, on the land that my grandfather had left for his daughter, and lived through difficult days. I was born on a moonlit night, with all my mother's efforts to hold a baby with the umbilical cord wrapped around its small body. I grew up, half like my mother, half like my father. The older I got, the more I looked like my father. In my memory, my father was kind and gentle, and I believe that my father never hated my mother...
My mother told the old story in tears. I sat next to her, sobbing too. Wiping her tears dry, she softly asked me:
- Ha! Are you angry with your mother for betraying your father?
I was absent-minded for a moment, then I shook my head:
- No, Mom! I'm old enough to understand that people can make mistakes.
My mother bowed her head.
I blurted out and asked:
- Mom, why didn't you take me to visit Dad that day? From our house to Bong Dua canal, it's not that far, but it's been a long time since we've been there. Dad waited...
Mom looked deep into my eyes and whispered:
- Because your father also needs his own happiness. That day, I understood that he still needed a woman to share, sympathize, take care of the housework, and foster love. But that person could not be me. I feel so guilty towards your father, I can never erase all my mistakes in my life...
I burst into tears like a child. It seemed like it had been a long time since I had cried, because my tears kept pouring out like the first rain of the season, uncontrollable.
Suddenly, in my mind, the image of my father standing on the shore waving his hand to my mother and me on the last afternoon I saw him... Until now...
*
And from then on, I could never see my father's face again. Three years ago, when I had the courage to return to Bong Dua canal, following the remaining traces of old memories, I arrived at my father's old house and old durian garden. The durian garden was still there, but the house had collapsed, leaving only pieces of peeling paint on the walls. I asked the people around me and they said that my father had passed away in a windy afternoon, a light departure, due to a sudden heart attack. But my father did not close his eyes... As for my aunt, a short time later, she also brought my father's portrait to her birthplace, also trying to live on for the rest of her life...
I followed the gravel path to the old durian garden, now owned by a different owner. There was a part of my father's grave there. The color of the grave was as gentle as the earth. Fragrant flowers and strange grasses grew all around the grave. I knelt before my father's grave.
...
Now, my mother and I are no longer in the old place. We have both gone to the city to continue living in the hustle and bustle of the city. Strangely enough, when she was young, my mother dreamed of so many urban lives, noisy vehicles, and bustling laughter. Now my mother misses her hometown so much, she misses the small river, she misses the boat that used to sway on the waves of Bong Dua canal to visit my father in the afternoon sunlight... And my mother aches for the image of my father...
- Mom, I really want to go visit Dad's grave! I miss him so much! I've been dreaming about him for the past few nights. He's holding my hand as we walked from the small boat to the shore like we used to. His hands are so soft...
Mom looked at me, her eyes were a little blurry but she still looked very beautiful! The beauty of the country girl from the past was still clearly imprinted. - Yes, I miss and love Dad too! In Mom's heart, Dad is always the most beautiful image!
I leaned my head on my mother's shoulder. Her shoulder was as soft as my father's affectionate hand.
My father's image flickered in my memory again...
Source: https://baolamdong.vn/van-hoa-nghe-thuat/202506/xa-xam-chon-cu-d2f39e4/
Comment (0)