The rainy season passed, the sowing season arrived, and then, in the blink of an eye, the harvest season came. Several families behind my house had already begun harvesting their rice, the sound of threshing machines echoing from early morning until late afternoon. Piles of golden straw gradually appeared, becoming more numerous. The children’s kites once again soared in the windy sky.
These days, Bình and I either cut rice or carried it, occasionally gleaning rice for the chickens and ducks my mother raised. It was rare that we had a free day to fly kites together.
Life was intertwined with the rice fields; this was probably the only pleasure Bình and I could indulge in. I remember the first time we went kite flying, my kite’s string broke and the wind blew it away. I cried for days. Finally, Hạnh had to save up her food money for two weeks to buy me a new kite.
As the afternoon sun softened, Bình came over with his kite and invited me to fly it in the field. I bought a new kite string a few days ago and added a few nylon tails to make the kite fly more steadily. But actually, Binh is the real kite-flying master; his kite has four tails attached, and when it flies high in the wind, it looks very beautiful.
I was about to leave when my mother called from outside: “Phuc, Thinh Van is looking for you!”
I put the kite on the dining table and hurried outside. Thinh Van had parked his Honda Cub 50 in the yard and was waiting at the door, dressed in trousers and a shirt, looking very smart and neat. He and I were complete strangers, but we became friends by chance.
That year I was twelve years old. One evening, as dusk was falling, I, as usual, came home from the fields and stayed submerged in the river, refusing to come out. On the other side of the river, the children from the upper village were speeding along on their bicycles on their way home from school. Their backpacks were strapped to the back of their bikes, their white shirts were pristine, and their faces were all fair and bright. I felt a little envious, but every time they rode past, I couldn’t take my eyes off them.
Then, from a distance, another group sped across the road, laughing loudly as they rode, their laughter so loud that the whole village could hear. They did little to attend school and much to cause trouble. When I saw them, I just sneered contemptuously and dove into the water to wash my hair. When I surfaced, I heard students on the other side shouting in panic: “He’s fallen into the river! He’s fallen into the river!”
I thought one of them had fallen into the river, so I laughed gleefully: “You’re dead, kid!” But before long, I saw the boy fall into the water, thrashing wildly, while the others on the bank laughed gleefully and rode away on their bikes. I thought to myself, “Wait, wasn’t that… Those bastards were the ones who just ran away? Wait…”
Realizing I’d laughed by mistake, I suddenly felt uneasy. I waded straight across to the other side, grabbed the boy by the collar, and pulled him back to shore.
He sat on the bridge, choking and coughing, crying uncontrollably, making me exhausted. And rightly so; looking at his fair complexion and chubby cheeks, I knew he was a pampered rich kid, probably never having experienced such dirty clothes and scraped limbs before.
I told him, “You’re on shore, why are you still crying? Let’s go home.”
He tried to stop crying, but his face still showed the fear after his near-death experience. He pointed down below, stammering, “There’s… there’s my bike… and mine…”
My mother taught me that when you help someone, you should help them completely, so I tried my best to retrieve his bike. Luckily, his schoolbag hadn’t slipped out; otherwise, I wouldn’t have found it even by morning.
The bicycle, after being pulled out of the mud, had one handlebar completely covered in mud. His schoolbag, needless to say, probably had fish inside when opened. He sat down to rest for a while, then stood up and pushed the bike, his whole body trembling, partly from fear, partly from the cold. Even after sitting on the seat, he was still clumsy, as if the river had washed away his cycling skills.
He was unlucky; he fell right into someone’s house who hadn’t returned from the fields yet. If I hadn’t seen him, he’d probably be buried two feet underground by now.
I looked at the spoiled brat in front of me with disgust. He looked big and strong, yet he was as timid as a rabbit. Seeing him hesitating, I urged him, “Are you going to ride the bike home? Are you planning to stand here forever?”
Seeing him rooted to the spot, I untied the strap securing the bag to the back seat and threw it into my bag. I snatched the handlebars from him, jumped onto the seat, and shouted, “Get on! Where do you live? I’ll give you a ride home.”
He was a little hesitant, but it was getting dark, so he gritted his teeth and gave me directions to take him home. I knew he was afraid of the dark and not being able to see the road; if he fell into the river again, he’d probably be dead and gone, no one would be able to save him.
I asked him, “Did you go mute after falling into the water? Why didn’t you yell for help?”
He was a little calmer now, trembling as he sat behind me and replied, “I swallowed too much water, I couldn’t scream.”
I said again, “You’re so grown up and you still don’t know how to swim. Luckily I was taking a shower, otherwise you’d be dead.”
He was much bigger than me, but at this moment he just sat trembling behind me, nodding and saying whatever I said, looking as obedient as possible.
After about thirty minutes of cycling, we finally arrived at his house. His mother was anxiously waiting at the door. Seeing one of his hands scraped and bruised, his mother felt sorry for him and burst into tears: “Oh my God, what happened to you? Why is it so bad? Brother, come and see Van!”
“Oh, honey!”
The mother called out to her husband while simultaneously grabbing the child, turning him around to check for other injuries. His father came out, frowned at the sight, but, being a man, he remained calmer than a woman. He asked, “What happened, son?”
He replied, “I wasn’t careful and fell into the river. Luckily, this friend pulled me ashore.”
He pointed at me, and I widened my eyes and asked, “Did you really fall? Or were those hooligans forcing your bike into the river? They were laughing hysterically when you fell!”
His mother looked at me and asked, “Who did you say forced your aunt’s bike? Where did they do it? Did you see their faces?”
I replied, “I don’t know their names. I just saw three or four of them often blocking the road and speeding. That section of the road is tiny; they force other kids’ bikes into the river all the time.”
Van held his mother’s hand reassuringly, “Don’t worry, Mom! I’m alright now.” “Let’s go inside, Mom!”
His mother was still grumbling, but she knew what to prioritize first. Seeing them go inside, I trotted back in. As soon as Thinh Van entered, he turned back and asked, “Are you planning to walk home? It’s a long way!”
Thinh Van’s father also called out, “Go inside, son.” “I’ll give you a ride home on my motorbike in a bit.”
Actually, I intended to go home right away, but then I thought that walking all the way home would be exhausting, so I decided to wait a little while.
[Exhausted legs: completely worn out].
His house was magnificent and opulent; the living room alone was as big as my whole house. There were comfortable cushioned chairs in the living room. There was even a glass cabinet, but what was displayed inside wasn’t anything. It was all Thinh Van’s certificates of merit.
Thinh Van’s mother led him inside, while his father led me to a tea table to have some water. This was my first time being a guest in someone’s house, so I felt incredibly awkward and embarrassed. From the moment I entered, I kept my head down, looking at my half-finished glass of water, remaining silent and not saying a word.
The man asked, “Where do you live?” “Are you Văn’s friend?”
I looked up slightly, meeting his gaze, and replied, “I’m from the village down there… I’m not…”
I stopped mid-sentence when I noticed his intense, somewhat panicked gaze. It was the first time anyone had looked at me like that, so I was startled and lowered my head, curling up on the chair.
Perhaps sensing something unusual, he sighed and said, “Your eyes are very beautiful, like someone I knew decades ago.”
I was about to say, “Everyone says my eyes are beautiful, like my mother’s. Just looking at your eyes is enough to tell you’re mother and daughter.” But before I could finish, Thịnh Văn and his mother came out. His mother seemed calmer, and she said, “Thank you, dear. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would have happened to my Văn.” She paused, then continued, “And you! I told you to go swimming practice, but you wouldn’t listen. From tomorrow, you’ll practice swimming for me, okay?” “Only when he knows how to swim will I let him go to school alone!”
Thinh Van nodded in agreement, while I kept glancing back and forth at the sky, which was now pitch black. Seeing my impatience, Thinh Van’s mother said, “Take him home in the car, let his parents look after him at home.”
Thinh Van’s father started the car, the headlights illuminating a corner of the road. Just as the car was about to leave, Thinh Van ran out of the house, thrusting a bag of various candies into my hand, whispering, “Thank you.”
I only managed to reply, “Remember to practice swimming, Dad,” before he dashed ahead. I kept fiddling with the bag of candies in front of me; because it was transparent, I could vaguely see the candies I had never tasted before. Looking at them, I swallowed hard; I had to show them to Mom and my older sister when I got home!
After a while, he asked me, “What do your parents do for a living?”
I innocently replied, “My father passed away.” “Okay. And my mother weaves roofing.”
Uncle let out an “Ah,” his voice sounding rather melancholic. He asked further, “How many siblings do you have?”
I replied, “I have an older sister. She’s four years older than me and is about to start 12th grade.”
Hearing this, his tone brightened. He asked, “Looking at you and my son Van, you must be about the same age. He’s about to start 8th grade, what grade are you in?”
Even though he couldn’t see, I shook my head and said, “I don’t go to school. My mother said we’re poor, so she can only afford to support my older sister. But she taught me to read. I can read my sister’s books, but they’re full of incomprehensible things.” “I guess you couldn’t even study properly and dropped out early, but that’s just your friends,” he said.
Sitting behind him made me feel more comfortable as we chatted. He was kind and caring, asking me all sorts of questions. He made me think of my father; if he were still alive, he’d probably be only a little older than him. And I’m sure that one night, my father would have taken me around the village like this.
I was lost in my thoughts, and didn’t realize the car had already passed my house. I quickly patted his shoulder: “We’ve gone past, we’ve gone past, Uncle!”
*past: gone past, over the mark
He slowly turned the car around, and I got out, saying, “My house is right next door. I’ll walk a few steps.”
The place where I got off was Uncle Bay Ro’s house, a short distance from Binh’s house. He was sitting by the river smoking, and when he saw me, he said, “Phuc, where are you? Where have you been? Your mother has been running around looking for you all afternoon!”
“He went to ask Binh but couldn’t find you, he drove off to the district market!”
I was so panicked I stammered, begging Uncle Bay: “Uncle Bay, Uncle Bay, please call my mother for me…”. Binh came down from upstairs and said: “You’re in for it, kid. You’re going to get a sore backside this time.” “Stay at my house tonight!”
I said goodbye to Thinh Van’s father and ran up to Binh’s house to hide. That night, Mom called Hanh over to tell me to come home to sleep, but I was still afraid of getting a beating, so I hid all night.
It’s been four or five years since then, but when I think about it, it still feels like it just happened.
Then, every year after that, when Thinh Van moved up a grade, he would bring his books over to me. This time was no different; Thinh Van was holding a huge package in his hand, inside were his entire 12th-grade school books.
Thinh Van gave me his books, but I didn’t dare let Mom see. Otherwise, she would be so sad knowing that I still wanted to go to school like everyone else.
Even though he only visited once or twice a year, Thinh Van naturally became a “valued guest” of my family. Looking at his fair and cute appearance, everyone knew that his family must be well-off. And Thinh Van’s personality was extremely polite, even though this made him seem a little older than his age.
My mother and I both liked to call him “he.” Thịnh Văn, what a special and elegant name. He was the one who explained the meaning of his name to me, and also the one who taught me many interesting and difficult-to-understand things from books. Thịnh Văn’s handwriting was beautiful, and thanks to his notes, I learned a lot about the world around me.
As always, Thịnh Văn helped me carry the pile of books inside and put them in a corner of the room. Despite his status as a young gentleman, entering a dark and dilapidated place like my house, Thịnh Văn never once complained about anything.
I asked, “Where are you going today dressed so smartly?”
Thịnh Văn replied, “Today I’m going to a farewell party for my old class. We’ve finished our university entrance exams, and now we’re just waiting for the results.”
I felt a little sad, then asked again, “So Thịnh Văn is going to Saigon to study like Hạnh?”
Thịnh Văn replied, “I don’t know yet, my parents want me to study abroad.” “I think both are good, but I still prefer going to Saigon.”
Studying domestically or abroad, for Thinh Van, it was all within his grasp, but for me, it was a beautiful but distant dream. Suddenly, from the back of the house, Binh’s voice rang out: “Are you ready yet? It’s getting dark!”
I shouted back: “Wait a minute!” Then I turned to Thinh Van and said: “Have you told your parents yet? I’m sure they won’t object. And you’re a good student, studying abroad will open up even brighter futures for you.”
Thinh Van suddenly patted my head and said: “But if that’s the case, then I won’t be able to visit Phuc often!”
From the back of the house, Binh’s voice was shouting again, sounding more annoyed than usual: “So, are you going or not?”
I snapped back: “You go first!” “Don’t wait for me!”
As soon as I finished speaking, there was a rustling sound of footsteps behind me. It wasn’t that I suddenly got angry, but because it was still early in the morning, and he was rushing me like a bandit.
After talking for a while longer, Thinh Van and I went out to the backyard, watching the first kites soaring freely in the vast sky, fluttering in the sun and wind. Thinh Van suddenly said, “If I really go abroad to study, I’ll miss this scene a lot.”
I then used my meager literary skills and said, “If I go abroad to study, I might be like that kite, reaching heights that few people achieve.”
Thinh Van replied, “If I’m the kite in the strong wind, then Phuc will be the kite string, okay?” “The string attached to the kite helps it fly really high, and also keeps it from being blown away by the wind.”
I understood some of it, but not all, because the sentence seemed to have a lot of hidden meanings. Suddenly, Thinh Van put his arm around my shoulder and patted me: “When Van comes back, I’ll take Phuc to places like I promised before, okay?”
Before, whenever I read a book and saw a beautiful place, I would blurt out: “I wish I could go there to see it.”
Thinh Van would always reply: “When we’re older, Van will take Phuc anywhere Phuc wants to go. Do you agree?”
At the time, I thought it was perfectly normal, but now, thinking about it, it feels strangely unusual.
Before I could reply, Thinh Van said goodbye and prepared to leave. Before leaving, he only said: “Phuc and Aunt Hai, stay well.” “Whenever I have the chance, Van will come visit.”
I watched Thinh Van’s back as he ran off before turning back inside. Hearing that, it seemed Thinh Van would really go abroad to study. But I think someone like him would succeed wherever he studies.