The Whisper of the Waves

The early morning sun shimmered on the hibiscus hedge in front of the house, the red blossoms like flickering flames in the rural landscape nestled beside the tranquil Sưa River, flowing at the foot of the hills, through the village, and into the vast sea.

Illustrative image

The early morning sun shimmered on the hibiscus hedge in front of the house, the red blossoms like flickering flames in the rural landscape nestled beside the tranquil Sưa River, flowing at the foot of the hills, through the village, and into the vast sea.

The season was gradually turning to summer. The low-lying houses lay silently under the blazing sky. When the sun had risen above the starfruit tree in front of the house, I stepped out into the yard, hesitantly looking towards the Sưa River dock. My aunt had already gone there early. The women of this village usually gathered at the Sưa River dock early in the morning or late in the afternoon to wait for the boats returning from the sea. The men of the village mainly lived by fishing. Their humble lives depended on the calm waves of each season, allowing them to continue through a life full of challenges.

Once, my aunt sat looking at me in the flickering lamplight and whispered:

- Quân, study hard, son. If you don't study, when you grow up and have to work at sea, it will be very hard!

I stared intently at my aunt. My eyes welled up with tears.

I didn't reply to my aunt, but nodded slightly. At that moment, an image of my father suddenly flashed through my mind: a stormy afternoon at sea. In the Northeast, the sky was pitch black, like a stain of ink. Waves rose in surges, reaching above our heads. A cacophony of sounds filled the air. Figures mingled on the Sưa River bank. My aunt grabbed her tattered conical hat, put it on, and ran through the pouring rain to the river mouth, calling out my father's name.

Dad never came back. Never…

My father has been absent from the Sưa River waterfront since then.

Back then, I often asked my aunt on nights when I lay with my hand on my forehead, the rain still pattering on the roof and the Sưa River rushing by. In the next room, my aunt was still awake, the light still on, and occasionally I could hear her coughing hoarsely.

- Do you believe in miracles, Auntie?

A few seconds later, I heard my aunt whisper in reply:

- A miracle? What is that? I don't know. It's too far-fetched, Quân!

I sighed. My aunt didn't believe in miracles either. Only I remained, yearning for a figure whose image, even now, remains elusive…

*

I never called my aunt "mother." She never questioned it. Every day, my aunt would go to the Sưa River bank and look towards the river mouth, where, in the mornings, fishing boats would return from the open sea, bringing with them an abundance of fresh fish. The Sưa River bank would be bustling for a moment, then become quiet, with only the sound of the Sưa River waves lapping against the shore and the buzzing of flies as they detected the pungent smell of fish. Sometimes, I would see my aunt sobbing, watching the wives of the men returning from their fishing trips, wiping away the sweat streaming down their faces or their sun-tanned, bare chests, reeking of men's scent. At that moment, I suddenly wanted to run and hug her tightly, to wipe away the tears from her weathered face, etched with the wrinkles of a lifetime of hard work. But then, some invisible rope bound my feet! I stood still under the shade of the crape myrtle tree, gazing towards the Sưa River bank, watching my aunt weeping and wallowing in her pain.

Time seemed to stand still so I could gaze closely at my aunt, noticing the passage of time etched on her hair, face, and figure. Without my father, my aunt's life had been filled with countless hardships.

How many times have I wanted to hold my aunt's thin hands, as if to soothe the wounds of her life? But then something made me hesitate. Day after day, month after month, I remained indifferent, apathetic, and cold towards my aunt. I never confided in her, only asking or responding to necessary questions so that we could acknowledge each other's existence in the small house by the windy Sưa River.

*

My father married my aunt shortly after my mother passed away. I was very angry with him then!

I vented all my resentment towards my father for hastily remarrying when my mother was still alive. In my perception, she was the unwanted person in this house, the one who had intruded into our peaceful lives.

Returning to the village from across the Sưa River, my aunt brought little more than a bag of clothes and a pile of fishing nets she hadn't yet mended. I sat huddled under a durian tree, watching her. She smiled at me, her gaze sharp as an arrow. She walked behind, about three or four steps away from my father. Seeing that, tears suddenly streamed down my cheeks. Back then, I found her more hateful than pitiable. In the mind of a seven or eight-year-old child, that strange woman would replace my mother in my father's heart, and even I would be "marginalized." I was so resentful! In the first few days with my aunt at home, I just lingered under the durian tree, outside the hibiscus hedge, by the Sưa River bank... The river stretched endlessly, wide and vast. The closer we got to the river mouth, the more turbulent the water became. The Sưa River had witnessed the happy days of our family, as well as the losses, sorrows, and rapid changes in our family.

Many nights I watched my aunt pacing back and forth in her small house; back then, the village still didn't have electricity. Night after night, the flickering oil lamps cast her shadow on the walls. Her hair was loose, her face weary with worry about making a living in the stormy days to come. I thought she resembled my mother so much! Looking at her, I missed my mother terribly! My mother rested peacefully in the soft embrace of the earth. She had merged her soul with the land, the gardens, and the rhythm of the Sưa River's flow. The longing prevented me from reading a complete phonics lesson. For the difficult words, I would mumble, trying to pronounce them as loudly as possible so my aunt would know I couldn't read them. Then she would proactively come to me and read the difficult words aloud for me to repeat.

On days when I missed my mother, seeing my aunt, I wanted to hold her hand, act spoiled, and snuggle into her arms for a loving embrace. But then I couldn't. My aunt looked at me for a long time, her eyes full of affection, and she asked me:

Quân, why do you have such a strong dislike for your aunt?

I lowered my head and didn't answer.

- Yes, that's right! I didn't give birth to you, I wasn't with you from a young age... That's why...! Quân, do you think I'm an outsider, someone who stole your father from you?

I didn't answer either. Suddenly, my throat tightened, and tears welled up in my eyes. How heartbreaking it was to see my aunt suffer. In all these years we'd lived together, she had never once yelled at me like the wicked stepmothers in the fairy tales I'd read. She had always been forgiving, kind, and self-sacrificing for my three children. Perhaps the image of my deceased mother still stood tall like a fortress in my heart, so I was determined not to break down that wall to accept any other image. To me, mother was everything! My beloved mother had passed away, leaving behind wounds in my soul that were difficult to heal. My aunt was like a doctor, soothing that pain day by day, hour by hour, until one day, she helplessly said to me in the rustling evening wind:

Oh my God! Quan, when will you ever call me "Mom"?! My love for you is no different from a mother's love for her own son, the one she gave birth to!

I stood rooted to the spot. The wind howled, rustling the roof, stinging my heart. The wind carried the scent of the Sưa River. It also carried the salty taste of the sea, the pungent smell of squid and fish in the last rays of sunlight at the end of the afternoon. I felt so sorry for my aunt! I wanted to call out "Mother!" but I couldn't utter a word. I rushed to the Sưa River bank, sat down, and looked up at the sky, letting two streams of tears fall freely down the cheeks of a fourteen or fifteen-year-old boy…

*

My aunt still diligently goes to the Sưa River dock to welcome each fishing boat that comes in, even though those boats will forever be without my father's presence.

My aunt still lights the fire every morning and evening in her simple kitchen, cooking her meals, the fragrant, sticky rice steaming up the roof… At home meals, she still diligently sits and removes fish bones for me. She confined her life to this house, by the Sưa River, but not because of my father, not because of her love—though at times I think she was the one who intruded on our peaceful lives. She did it for me. Because without her, I would be like a lost bird, adrift in the sky, like a fish stranded in the scorching summer sun.

This month, hibiscus flowers blazed red in front of the house, along the road leading to the Sưa River.

In the afternoon, I walked home against the wind. The sea was quiet. A pang of nostalgia stirred within me. As I stepped across the threshold and into the house, I suddenly saw a strangely familiar sight. On an old wooden chair with one leg broken off—my aunt had pieced it back together with nails and placed it against the wall—she was meticulously mending my clothes, stitching them together. That image reminded me so much of my mother in the past. And then I looked again; it wasn't my mother, it was my aunt. I knew that my aunt would never become my mother, but the love I felt for her might be as full and complete as the love I felt for my deceased mother. Tears welled up in my eyes.

- Auntie!… Mom… Mom!…

My voice shattered in the quiet afternoon air of the house. Since my father passed away, the house has retained this same quiet, somber atmosphere!

As if afraid she had misheard, whether it was the sound of the river or the wind, my aunt lifted her head and rubbed her ears. I exclaimed, my voice choked with sobs:

Mom! I love you so much!

The shirt in my aunt's hand fell to the ground. She slowly walked towards me. Even she couldn't hide the emotion in her heart at being called the sacred and noble word "mother"!

- Quân, my son!

I hugged my aunt tightly, crying like I'd never cried before. In my ears, I could hear the gentle murmur of the Sưa River, the soft breeze whispering the lullabies my mother used to sing to me. Amidst the sounds of the waves, the sea, the earth and sky… I heard the loving whisper of my mother!

Hoang Khanh Duy

Source: https://baolongan.vn/loi-thi-tham-cua-song-a192893.html