Across the river, the sound of the temple bells echoed. He stood up and lifted the fishing net. There were countless fish tonight. He suddenly remembered little Bi when he was only four years old; wherever he went, Bi would follow. Once, seeing a dense school of fish wriggling in the net he had just lifted, Bi reached out and scooped one up, gazing at it for a long time, his eyes welling up with tears as he looked up at his father and whispered, "Dad, release the fish back into the river! I feel so sorry for it!" "Then what will we eat?" he asked. "I can eat rice!" the child pleaded. He indulged his child, silently pulling back a corner of the net and letting the fish fall into the river before his child's joyful face.
He stood up and hung the kerosene lamp high. In the thick fog, only the crescent-shaped, curved roof of the Lower Pagoda was faintly visible. The water's surface shimmered, reflecting the clusters of clouds drifting lazily into the river. A gentle spring breeze blew, carrying the earthy scent of alluvial soil, mixed with the aroma of boiling ginger and the sweet fragrance of freshly pounded sticky rice.
The river stood still, as if it had forgotten to flow. Amidst the lapping against the shore, there was the clucking of a water hen. The oar in his hand cut through the water neatly and steadily. The Chồ ferry landing was deserted; surely no one was crossing the river at this hour. Thà steered the boat toward the shore, pushing it onto the sandbank. By the water's edge, a fish thrashed violently, sliding back into the river; another remained stranded in the tangled dry grass, just as he pushed the boat ashore, the current helping it to escape.
The night was dark. Along the Mòi River, he walked amidst the phosphorescent glow of fireflies scattered along the bamboo groves. From here, he could see the small house nestled on the wide sandbar. When they were newly married, he had taken her to the sandbar to check the auspicious day for digging the foundation. The villagers, knowing the story, all advised against it, telling them to move to the inner village, asking why they had to come to this sandbar where it was windy day and night. She just smiled, and together they pushed the ox cart loaded with bricks to build their "love nest," as the villagers called it.
In the small house, the lamp cast a shadow of Mrs. Tha sitting and simmering jam, her hands steadily stirring the jam in an aluminum basin with chopsticks, her face bowed down in that familiar gentle expression. Hearing the heavy footsteps approaching the porch, she stopped what she was doing and smiled to greet him.
"Did Bi go to bed early today? Why didn't you make jam for Mom?" Taking off his shirt and hanging it on the line, Mr. Tha peeked into the mosquito net. "I was too busy digging for crickets at noon to sleep. I only managed to stir the jam for Mom a few times before I was exhausted," Mrs. Tha replied, going down to the kitchen, carrying a tray, placing it on the mat, scooping rice into a bowl for her husband, then turning to the bowl of jam that was almost empty. From the river came the clucking of a water hen. Mr. Tha looked at the flickering fire in the stove, casting a glow on his wife's face in profile. He suddenly felt immense pity for her. Tet (Lunar New Year) was almost here, and the villages were bustling with preparations. His family had pickled onions, a bowl of ginger jam, and little Bi had several new outfits. But Mrs. Tha hadn't bought anything for years. Since having a child, all her savings had been for little Bi. Little Bi suddenly woke up, muttering in his sleep. Mrs. Tha crawled into bed, hugged her child, and, feeling her warm breath, reassured little Bi, who fell back asleep.
"Ferryman!" a longing voice called from the dock, its tone mingling with the sound of water lapping against the shore. He quickly stood up, grabbed the oar, and headed out to the gate.
The waning moon cast a mystical, ethereal hue upon the river, illuminating even the dew-covered blades of grass shimmering on the riverbank. A passenger stood waiting, his bag slung over his shoulder, the peach blossom branch in his hand gleaming brightly in the twilight. As Thà untied the mooring rope, the passenger hurried down. The pure, gentle scent of peach blossoms wafted through the river breeze. Thà discreetly inhaled the fresh fragrance. This peach blossom branch, the kind brought from the North. He suddenly thought, if his family had a branch like this for Tet (Lunar New Year), his wife and little Bi would be so happy.
The man sat at the bow of the boat, idly watching the river flow by amidst the rhythmic sound of the oars. “Are you from far away, returning home for Tet?” Thà asked, trying to strike up a conversation. “Yeah… it’s been over ten years since I last visited my hometown.” “Which village are you from?” “I’m from Trà Lý.” The man gazed thoughtfully at the villages receding behind him, muttering to himself, “I just come back to visit because I miss my hometown, there’s no one left here. A lifetime of wandering, and only at this age do I feel the weariness, only then do I realize that, at the end of my life, my homeland is still everything…” He suddenly turned to Thà and asked in a friendly tone, “Have you prepared everything for Tet?” “Yes, we’ve made pickled vegetables and jam. On New Year’s Eve, we’ll wrap up a few sticky rice cakes.” Thà and his guest chatted intermittently about Tet in the village amidst the steady sound of the oars.
The boat docked. Thà propped the pole against the shore to anchor it so the man could step ashore. While the man was still fumbling around, Thà quickly carried the bags ashore and then returned to help him.
“Thank you! Wishing your family a peaceful spring!” the man said softly, slipping a banknote into his hand. “No need to give me change!” the man waved his hand kindly, then bent down, picked up the peach blossom branch, and placed it in his hand. “Take it home to display for Tet! Consider it a gift from me to your family!” With that, he quickly stepped ashore, hastily slung his bags over his shoulder, and turned to leave. A moment later, Thà remembered and called after him, “Thank you, sir! Wishing your family a healthy and prosperous New Year!”
The tall figure disappeared into the darkness, and Thà stood still, watching. The peach blossom branch in his hand glowed bright red, swaying in the north wind. In the vast expanse of the river, only he and the small branch remained, like a silent message: "Homeland is everything." He gently placed the branch in the boat, gazing up at the fluffy clouds drifting leisurely across the high sky.
Upon arriving at the gate, I saw my little daughter anxiously waiting by the doorway. As soon as she saw me, she rushed out, exclaiming, "I dreamt of you, Dad! I woke up startled!" While chattering away, she suddenly noticed the branch of flowers in her father's hand and was overjoyed. Holding the branch of peach blossoms high in both hands, she ran into the house to show her mother.
Mrs. Tha, standing by the fireplace, stood up, stunned by the vibrant rose branch in the middle of the house. "It's so beautiful!" she exclaimed. She turned to her husband, "Where did these beautiful flowers come from?" Mr. Tha smiled, pulling his wife closer. "A traveler crossing the river gave them to us!" Her eyes sparkled, and her relieved smile brightened her face. She climbed onto the trellis, carried down a chest, and opened it to find a porcelain vase to put the peach blossom branch in—a precious vase passed down from her grandfather's generation to hers. On the wooden table, the peach blossom branch burst into bloom. Little Bi, ever since her father returned, had been restless, running around admiring the flowers, her face beaming with joy.
The sound of slow, shuffling slippers echoed across the porch. Old Mrs. Them from the house behind her, hunched over, entered, carrying two rice cakes and a bag of other cakes. She called out hoarsely, "Bi! The cakes I just made are still hot!" Thà stood up and helped her sit down. Mrs. Them patted her back repeatedly while smacking her lips. "The children who work far away haven't come home yet. I'm bored at home, so I came over to sit with little Bi to keep warm." "That's right, Grandma! Come and stay with me!" Bi, seizing the opportunity, ran and snuggled into Mrs. Them's lap, whispering, "Look, Grandma! This year our house has beautiful flowers!" "Oh, oh… I'll sit here and watch the flowers bloom!" Mrs. Them hugged the little girl, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. Suddenly, Thà reached over and took his wife's hand. Shadows flickered on the wall in the flickering firelight.
From afar, the bells of Ha Pagoda echoed, their gentle chime like the eager anticipation of spring arriving at the doorstep…
Short stories by Vu Ngoc Giao
Source: https://baocantho.com.vn/xuan-ben-ben-que-a197550.html
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