Fountain stone

In June, the rain poured down, the sky was white with rain, bright lightning tore through the dark clouds, thunder rumbled incessantly. In the late afternoon, the rain stopped, the clouds dispersed, an old friend posted the video on Facebook. There was a big flood, water from the stream overflowed into the fields, contrary to usual. Childhood memories came flooding back. Here is the section of Cay Si, there is the section of Goc Nhoi, here is the Xo Xo abyss, there is Ben Tam,...

In those days, whenever I let myself drift on a small stream during the flood season, I often dreamed of the wide, long rivers that I had once seen on a black and white battery-powered TV screen, or read somewhere in worn-out and tattered books and newspapers.

At the age of nine, during the summer break, I went to live with my uncle, taking care of my brother and sister-in-law’s children, at his request. My brother and sister-in-law were still struggling to make a living. From then on, my uncle’s life story, longer than a river, flowed through me. From then on, besides my mother, the second woman in my life, my uncle, always taught me good things and right reasons, influencing my thinking and way of thinking later on.

Source: Internet

For my first meal, my uncle treated me to stir-fried snails. The snails looked strangely long, the meat was crispy, delicious, and fragrant. I asked him what kind of snails. He said it was a stream. Strange. It was the first time I heard it. My uncle took me to the Ben Tam area. So he called a stream a stream. I blurted out and asked him why it wasn't a stream. My uncle thoughtfully said he was used to calling it that, like he used to call it before. From then on, I only remembered the stream. To my uncle, the stream was very important.

The fountain provided him with a continuous, clear flow of water to wash buckets of clothes every noon, and to carry water to water the plants during dry spells. The fountain had many stone slabs for him to sit on, and after washing, he could rest. The fountain provided him with delicious snails that clung to the rocks and ate the food that clung to the rocks to grow. The fountain provided him with fish and shrimp.

Besides looking after the children, I don’t mind doing chores around the house. Sitting with my uncle picking black beans, bad beans, sitting with my uncle picking peanuts, withered beans, wrinkled beans, my uncle kept whispering about life stories. My uncle passed away early, when my eldest sister had just gotten married, and my youngest brother was only eleven. My uncle alone supported the family, got married, took care of eight children, and settled down. My father often said he loved his sister-in-law very much.

I stayed at my uncle’s house for almost a month before my father came to pick me up. He said he missed me so much that he should go home with his parents. No matter how poor our family was, we would never let our children “go away”. I went home. During the first month of living with my uncle, I felt like a family member, and the connection became closer and more frequent in the time after that. Sometimes, compared to my uncle’s grandchildren, I was closer to him than anyone else, and talked to him the most.

Ba said, he loved his eldest sister, her husband worked for the government, she stayed home and farmed, they had different ways of thinking, life was difficult. Ba loved his second brother, who stayed in the city, far from his mother, far from his siblings, and was alone in his career. Ba loved his third brother, whose work was not going anywhere. Ba loved his fourth sister, each husband and wife had their own personality, like the moon and the sun. Ba loved his fifth brother, who was sick and ill. Ba loved… How much could he love? Can love ever be measured?

Years passed by. The first year he died, due to a serious illness, the old man felt as much for the deceased as he did for his daughter-in-law, just like him. Seeing his youngest sister-in-law call her husband to pump up her bicycle, the old man also shed tears. She had a husband to share with, even the smallest things, while his fifth daughter-in-law was left alone to raise two small children, completely independent.

I went to school, went to work, got married, had children, and I was absorbed in the flow of life. Every year, I tried to visit my uncle at least twice. Once during Tet, the other time was usually after my father's death anniversary, right in the middle of summer. When I first arrived, my uncle would always ask, "Have you been home for long?", "How are your parents-in-law?", "Are they well?" And then the conversation continued, like a winding stream, flowing downstream, and it was difficult to stop.

Neither my uncle nor I wanted to end the story. Before leaving, my uncle always held my hand tightly and gave me very careful instructions. Remember, when you go back to your husband's family, please send my regards to your husband's parents.

Then the seventh brother died of cancer, when he was very young. Ba's love, literally "divided into five, divided into seven", for the fifth sister-in-law and the seventh sister-in-law. The youngest brother also died suddenly not long after, because of a cold. Ba did not cry. Ba said, "The yellow leaves, sitting and looking at the green leaves falling from the branch before, this pain, I don't know how to describe it properly, my dear." Ba lightly punched his chest. Then he looked far away at the vast sky in front of the door. The pain had not yet subsided when the second brother passed away, just as suddenly as the youngest brother. Ba's tears sank inside.

Life has changed, and the stream has also changed somewhat. The Banyan tree has long been cut down. At Ben Tam and Goc Nhoi, there used to be a wooden bridge with a single trunk, about the size of a water bucket, connecting the two banks of the small stream. Now, the wooden bridge has been replaced by two sturdy concrete bridges with railings, built with the State's investment.

The stream still flows windingly, dividing Dong Ma field with Lan Chieu field, near the limestone mountains. The stream rocks are still silver-gray and mossy. People come. People stay. People go. Only Ba is left with the small house on the hill with his youngest sister-in-law. Housework, gardening, Ba tries to touch, to not rest, but every day there are still hours, many hours, he sits aimlessly. Ba still holds my hand tightly every time I come home, still whispering many stories of life.

I have fulfilled my childhood dream, coming to many rivers, big and small. The Red River, the Thai Binh River, red with heavy alluvium. The Duong River, “a sparkling stream”. The Bach Dang River, marking ancient victories. The Ky Cung River flows upstream. The Bang Giang River is gentle. The Nho Que River is calm. The Lo River – a legendary river. The Da River has clear blue water. The Ma River is majestic. The Huong River is poetic. The Thach Han River carries the national soul. The Son River is gentle. The Serepok River is noisy, … But I only remember longingly about my stream and my lake.

Late Autumn, I returned to visit my uncle, returned to the old stream, the water had receded, the water flowed gently, rising up rocks were rocks, standing tall with the years, like my uncle's ninety-five years. My uncle was still surprisingly lucid, not forgetting each old person, remembering each young person, eight biological children, even though half of them had left him and gone to nothingness, the same number of sons-in-law, daughters-in-law, eighteen grandchildren, not to mention grandchildren-in-law, grandchildren-in-law, twenty-six great-grandchildren, an extraordinary memory.

To me, you are like a rock, you are a rock, a fountain rock. Rock has gone through many flood seasons, still steadfast and steadfast. You have gone through many bitter seasons, still calm, before the storms of life.

Source: https://baothainguyen.vn/van-nghe-thai-nguyen/sang-tac-van-hoc/202507/da-ngoi-45e0e23/