My father...

(Baonghean) - In 1972, I was born in a small, dilapidated house with a flickering light at the end of the riverbank. My mother said that day, she gritted her teeth and gave birth to me, along with so much sorrow and grief. My father was the one who delivered my mother. He had secretly learned a few procedures during his time in the military, having worked at the military hospital. Very few people visited my family in those days. Later, growing up, my sister and I had no friends to play with. Only a couple of children would occasionally stand outside the fence calling us, but then their parents would come and call them back home.

Later, one of them honestly told me, "My mother said not to play with you. You have leprosy..." Leprosy? What does leprosy mean? My bewildered expression must have made it clear that I didn't understand the disease, so it explained further, "Slowly, leprosy will eat away at your legs, arms, eyes, nose, mouth, and everything else. Lepers will turn into ghosts and demons, it's terrifying!" I shuddered, remembering my father's amputated hands and toes. But my mother had explained it differently, so I firmly argued, "No, no, my father doesn't have leprosy. He stepped on a landmine." They mocked me, "Everyone knows that, the whole village says so. Surely your parents are lying!"

Illustration: An Vinh

I brought my resentment home and asked my mother. My mother, very quickly, asserted: “Don’t listen to their nonsense. Stories about lepers are just fabrications made up by people…” I still didn’t quite believe my mother. In my young mind, I was always haunted by the stories the children told about lepers. Sometimes in my dreams, I would see my father appear before me in a terrifying state: no eyes, nose, or mouth, replaced by a gaping hole in his once kind face. I grew up with the apprehension that if my father had leprosy, he would surely lose another toe or finger each day…

I often gazed intently at his remaining hand whenever he used bamboo strips to weave baskets. Sometimes, I felt as if he could read my thoughts. He would look at me with eyes heavy with sadness, his hand becoming clumsy… But since I started paying attention to him, no more fingers had fallen off. Therefore, I believed that my father didn't have leprosy as people rumored. My father continued weaving baskets and making brooms for my mother to sell at the district market. Besides that, our family also cultivated three acres of rice and raised chickens and ducks. Strangely, my mother couldn't sell anything to the villagers. Every two or three months, my father would pack his bags and go somewhere for a few days. He said he was going on business or visiting relatives. Once, I suggested going with him for a few days, but he said, "The road is very long. Stay home and be good, and I'll buy you a gift." That time, my father bought me a black schoolbag – something I wouldn't even dare dream of. I always went to school in the bag my mother skillfully sewed from scraps of raincoat fabric…

Life went by very slowly for us. My sister and I still had very few friends. We sensed their shyness, so we proactively avoided playing with anyone. Moreover, we had become accustomed to it. Until one day, I remember it was an evening, my father called my mother out to the outer room to talk for a long time. A few days later, my parents packed up the house and fields, sold the chickens and ducks, and told my sister and me to prepare to say goodbye to our teachers and friends before leaving. That was when I was 13 years old, and it was also the first time I had ever traveled on a long-distance bus.

After two bus journeys, almost a whole day's trip, we arrived at a new place where my parents planned to settle. It was a remote, hilly region, full of mountains, valleys, and steep slopes. We started a new life in the shack my parents built. My parents diligently worked in the fields, plowing and sowing... Life in those days was incredibly difficult. However, in this new place, the neighborly relationships seemed closer. The people living around here were few and far between, but they often visited each other's homes to chat and ask about each other's well-being. They were also people from all over who had come here to start a new life. The story of my father's amputated hands and toes was mentioned by some, but there was no gossip or questioning. Life was peaceful for about two years, then my father suddenly prepared for a long journey. Before he left, he discussed it at length with my mother. I couldn't hear the conversation, but when I saw my mother come out, I saw her secretly wiping away tears… In the days that followed, my younger sister and I waited for our father's return as usual, but only my mother wasn't expecting anything. She said, "Your father will probably be gone for a long time this time, so don't worry anymore…"

How could we not miss our father so much? But the more we longed for him, the more he disappeared without a trace. Some neighbors even teased us, saying, "He must have gone to find another wife." From longing and hopelessness, we began to resent him. How could our father abandon us three women, his wife and daughters, in this place? Where did he go? Could he have returned to our hometown, or gone to visit relatives in the South? Wherever he was, he should have come back to see us, shouldn't he?

Throughout all my subsequent school years, I carried the black leather briefcase my father bought me as a gift. It was the most precious gift, and almost the only gift I ever received from him. After finishing 12th grade, I studied and became a kindergarten teacher. Five years have passed, and my father still hasn't returned. We only know a little information from my mother, who says she gathered it from relatives: my father has gone to the South. He has a new life, a new family.

My sister and I have both become young women. The longing for our father, and even resentment, sometimes washes over us. It remains a question mark, an incomprehensible mystery, especially since I started having boyfriends. He was a soldier in a division stationed near my house. He often inquired about my father, and surely had considerable questions about his near disappearance…

As the wedding day approached, I thought about him more and more. How I longed for his presence on my big day. Many nights, I couldn't sleep, just thinking about him. And then…

With only three days left until my wedding, that night it was raining, cold, and very dark. I saw my mother get up. She went outside but didn't come back. Had something happened to her? Had she fallen? I quickly threw off the blankets and went to look for her… There was a light on downstairs. My mother was there! I listened; there were whispers. She wasn't alone. I peeked through the crack in the door and couldn't believe my eyes. My father had returned. I was about to push the door open, but something held me back. I heard my father ask, "Does Hien hold a grudge against me?" My mother replied, "No." "I got this; give it to her!" Then he rummaged through his coat pocket. "I told you I prepared this for her; you should use it for medicine and other necessities." "No, life in the leprosy colony is fine. Everyone there is the same; they care for each other a lot. Just bear with it for a while longer, so that the children can settle down and start their own families."

My legs gave way. Father! Why did you have to do this? I fell against the door. The noise woke my parents. They ran to the door and caught me. I saw that my father had lost a lot of weight and looked confused and resigned. “Father, I understand your feelings, but my sister and I need you more than anything in the world. Please come back and live with us properly. I know you think we need to get married, but what happiness do we have without a father? Besides, Mother needs you too. If you need to go for treatment, Mother and I will go with you. If people gossip, we will share it together. Do you understand that?” It seems I said all of that to my father in that moment of reunion. For the first time, I saw him cry…

My wedding later encountered some difficulties because my husband's family wasn't entirely supportive, but my husband was very loving and protective of our love, so we still had a simple, warm wedding. Now our daughter is grown up. My father passed away after a stroke. I still keep the black briefcase, and I'm only now beginning to tell you all the details of my family's ups and downs…

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