Each season has its own characteristics. Therefore, each season, people wait for different emotions. In Spring, we wait for the green buds. In Autumn, we wait for the rustling of yellow leaves. When Winter comes, we curl up and wait for the cold wind to cut our skin. But Summer is different, in Summer we wait for sounds.
We wait to hear the Summer choir singing the cicadas in the air. That choir hums tirelessly. And the song of the countryside, bustling with the ripening rice season. Perhaps, that is the perfect love song that nature has bestowed upon us. What do we feel when we immerse ourselves in that melody, a little bit of wandering, a little bit of dreaming and we suddenly find ourselves loving life more.
On a summer night, we listen to the country symphony of insects, the wind carrying the faint scent of chestnut flowers, the rustling of bamboo stalks rubbing against each other. And sometimes, the sound of a foot-operated threshing machine tearing and devouring the night sky, that rumbling sound echoing from a faraway place in the quiet space like the joyful cheers of a bountiful harvest day.
But the sound that I look forward to most when summer comes is the cry of ice cream vendors: “Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream”. When that cry rings out, people’s hearts are flooded with memories. Under the clear blue sky, the golden sunshine like pouring honey, the sky is red with royal poinciana flowers, the purple of lagerstroemia flowers, the ice cream vendor bathes in the sun, the fatigue and hardship clearly shown on his sweat-soaked shirt. The old bicycle rolls with each wheel creaking, heavy and sluggish like the breath of old people. That fatigue is quickly dispelled by the crisp laughter of children. Some children hold the coins that their grandmothers and mothers give them, eagerly going to buy ice cream, their eyes shining with joy. Some children diligently collect scrap metal, hoping that at noon they will exchange it for a few ice cream sticks, which will be as cool as a fan in the heart, all the heat and stuffiness will disappear.
I remember back then, in the summer there was no air conditioning, electric fans were rare, only leaf fans. On summer afternoons, children did not lie in air conditioning, nor did they lie in fans, nor did they have smartphones for entertainment. Every hot summer afternoon, under the shade of the old trees, we children gathered to play marbles, play marbles, jump rope, and tug of war despite the summer heat, despite the sweat pouring down, despite our dirty clothes, our laughter echoed throughout the sky.
“Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream” the cry rang out, all other sounds seemed to stop. We stopped what we were playing, ran to quickly collect plastic bottles, glass bottles, broken pot pieces, etc. to exchange for ice cream. The amount of ice cream we exchanged was never enough for each person to have a stick, sometimes three or four people shared one ice cream stick. The ice cream tasted cool, sweet, imbued with childhood friendship and the crisp laughter of children. At that time, happiness for us was simply eating a bit of cool ice cream in the middle of a hot summer afternoon.
“Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream” – The sound of ice cream rang out, I happily shouted “The ice cream is here, grandpa!”. “Hey, take this bottle out and exchange it for two ice cream sticks!” – grandma smiled. A moment later, I trotted in, stammering: “Grandma, they only gave me one stick!”. Grandma patted my head and smiled, “Grandpa said I had to exchange it for two sticks, so eat quickly or the ice cream will be gone!”. I ate and smiled happily, and grandma also looked at me eating and smiled gently.
Just like that, several decades have passed. Now, I am an adult, and my grandmother has passed on to eternity. But whenever summer comes, my heart always remembers the familiar cry of ice cream vendors. Then there are times when I am lying in my room and hear that cry echoing in the air, I jump up, run outside, chase after the ice cream vendor, buy some ice cream even though they are not like the ones I used to eat when I was a child. But I still eat them greedily, feel the sweetness lingering on the tip of my tongue, feel the coolness rushing into my heart, and suddenly my soul feels as fresh as in my childhood days. The nostalgia for childhood, the warm voice of my grandmother is more intense than ever. Many summers have passed, but whenever summer comes, my heart always waits for the sounds, perhaps that is the "sound of nostalgia".
Article: Tran Tu
Illustration: Le Thang - Document
