Fairytale Summer

"Grandma, what are fairy tales?" "Fairy tales are beautiful stories passed down from generation to generation, my dear!" "What is summer, grandma? Why do cicadas chirp in summer?" "Damn it, how can I answer so many questions?"

Fairytale Summer

Illustration: Internet.

She patted my head and smiled. Her smile made her dim eyes light up with joy and the wrinkles on her face seemed to deepen. She chewed betel nut, revealing her black teeth. Every time I saw her smile, a feeling of peace suddenly flooded my heart, as if that summer had never been so harsh.

Summer day, the sun is scorching. The sky is a deep blue, full of mystery. The symphony of thousands of cicadas chirping. Hot summer, noisy summer, majestic summer. Nostalgic summer…

“Ah ah ah oh, ah ah oh

Sleep you sleep long

Your mother has not come back from planting rice yet.

Catch the grass carp and catfish

Grab the neck and drag it home to feed the sleeping thing.

Oh oh oh oh…”.

In the vast space, the lullaby echoed in the mind, soothing the subconscious of the grown-up child. A summer day so long ago. Back then, “touch-phone” was not in the dictionary. Devices such as refrigerators, electric fans, televisions or cassette players were also rare and luxurious items. In the cradle, the child was sleeping soundly, on its face, summer was so gentle. It seemed that there was no presence of the harsh summer sun and the daily hardships. Summer was so peaceful. That peace was contained in the simple thatched house hidden under the shade of shady trees. Summer was bustling with the chirping of birds, the chirping of cicadas. But everything seemed to stop when the grandmother’s lullaby began. Beside the small cradle, with each swing of the cradle, her arm waved the leaf fan. The baby fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. Perhaps, to her, summer was just drops of sweat on her face.

The baby grew up in the swing of the cradle. He grew up through the sunny summers. His summer had the sound of cicadas echoing in the air, the lullabies of white storks flying gracefully, the cries of cuckoos searching for their mates… The baby grew up in the lullabies, the songs, the warmth and love of his grandmother.

Fairytale Summer

Illustration: Internet.

In the hot summer, she often cooked simple dishes. Just a handful of Malabar spinach picked from the garden and cooked with some field crabs she caught. Or she would go to the garden and pick some sour plums or mangoes and cook them with water spinach to have a delicious soup that was both sweet and refreshing. Her garden was full of green and the fragrance of trees and leaves. The scent of chestnut flowers wafted in the air, the scent of ripe jackfruit was intoxicating. Some days, I followed her to pick jackfruit.

“Grandma! How long does it take for a jackfruit tree to bear fruit this sweet and fragrant?” “At least 10 years, my child. The young tree is planted in the ground, cared for, and then grows, and only when it grows can it flower and bear fruit. Young fruit also needs time to grow and ripen to be as fragrant as this, my child!”

This land used to be barren and rocky, but with many shovels, hoes, and drops of sweat, the soil was revived, the trees grew green, gave flowers, and bore fruit. That is why it is said that with human effort, rocks and gravel can turn into rice, my child. Time passes, people go to faraway places, but the fruits of their labor are still here.” At times like that, I understand that she misses him.

The summer sun dyed the rice fields yellow. I followed the edge of the field to harvest rice for my grandmother. The fragrant, plump golden grains had an indescribable scent. Only later did I realize that it was the scent of the earth, the sky, and the water mixed with the sweat of people. During the harvest season, the sound of the threshing machine drowned out the sound of cicadas. The rice was golden in the yard, the straw was golden in sugar. Royal poinciana flowers were bright red in the corner of the sky. The clear blue sky had clouds drifting lazily by. The silhouettes of paper kites filled with wind were flying high in the sky. Kites that had to be furtively torn from student notebooks, or better yet, borrowed from a few newspapers, then mixed with tapioca flour to make them stick. Looking at the kites filled with wind soaring in the blue sky, the children happily cheered loudly. The sun gradually set behind the mountains, and the sunset turned red before they were willing to go home.

Fairytale Summer

My fairy tale is my grandmother. (Illustration: Internet).

Night. The darkness highlighted the brilliant galaxies. The moon melted into space. Fireflies flew in flocks like falling stars. The heat of the day rose up swelteringly. The fan was nothing compared to the heat. I went out to the porch, lay on the bamboo bed, inhaled the fragrant lotus scent carried by the wind, listened to the cuckoo's call from a faraway place. Grandma sat next to me, her hair white, waving a leaf fan. Chewing betel and starting to tell stories of the old days. I fell asleep in fairy tales.

In my restless sleep, I could faintly smell her scent, like the scent of grass, flowers and fruits in the garden. It seemed to be the scent of time, the hardships of the sun and rain, the desolation of fairy tales. The sky had one more star and my grandmother was no more. She said that when a person dies, their soul will be liberated into a bright star, which will always watch over the living every night.

In modern summer, the sun still spreads golden light on the streets. Royal poinciana flowers still shine bright red in a corner of the sky. Thousands of cicadas still chirp the love song of creation. But people lock themselves in their rooms with many conveniences. In modern life, people are afraid to go out in the summer. People distance themselves from nature, satisfying themselves in the coolness of air conditioning. Children also fly kites less, they stay in their rooms, their world is confined to their smartphones. And naturally, summer becomes more and more harsh.

I suddenly remembered the summers of long ago, the days of long ago. The summer days with the old lady chewing betel, her hair white, her eyes shining after a hearty laugh. The sound of cicadas rang out, the sound seemed to linger for thousands of years. The lullaby was like the mist at dusk. “Aoi, good night, aoi lullaby…” Who is that with the white hair, bright eyes, smiling at me? Is it the Fairy I often saw in the fairy tales she told? How much she resembles my grandmother!

Looking up at the brightest star in the sky, I seemed to see her smiling. In the sobbing of nostalgia, my summer appeared with so much grandeur and mystery. It planted in my heart a resounding love song. The sounds of insects humming from time immemorial. The lullabies, the fairy tales she told, the dishes she cooked are now just old things forever in my memory.

One hot summer day, I wandered back to my grandmother’s garden. Time had covered the landscape with moss. I found the answer to the question I used to ask my grandmother. Grandma, my fairy tale is you. And summer is the fairy tale season.

Tran Tu

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