Dieu's story

Short storybelong to Hoang Dat Lac

Diệu, who was originally gentle and quiet, had been married into a family at the end of Miễu village for about five years when she suddenly developed a dreamy, absent-minded personality, crying and laughing without reason, experiencing a mix of sadness and joy. Once, Diệu ran away from home, and her relatives frantically searched for her, only to find her sitting motionless beside a small shrine. The moon that night was perfectly round and full of red.

Diệu's husband had been at sea for over a month and still hadn't returned. Her mother-in-law and sister-in-law had fallen asleep after their argument. Diệu had hidden herself in her room early to avoid getting involved. As night deepened, Diệu quietly unlocked the door and stepped outside. A gentle breeze caressed her frail body. She walked slowly along the familiar path and sat down beside the old, discarded Buddha statues near the small shrine. Tilting her head back, Diệu slowly breathed in the gentle night air. She felt more comfortable being out of that stuffy house. After a while, Diệu stood up and walked aimlessly. The moon hung cold against the dark night sky.

When Dieu looked up in bewilderment, it was already morning. Hearing Aunt Xuan urging her father to quickly wash the laundry, Dieu knew she was standing in front of her mother's house. Dieu hesitated, wanting to go in and light an incense stick for her mother, but then decided against it. A fleeting feeling of shame and bitterness crossed Dieu's mind. If only her father had treated her mother and her even a little as he did now...

Diệu's mother, now gentle and meek, was busily washing clothes by the well. It was the same well where her mother used to draw water to wash Diệu's hair. Her mother had praised Diệu's thick, black, lustrous hair, making her older sister, standing nearby, envious. Diệu touched her own hair, her eyes welling up with tears. Suddenly, a cold wind blew through Diệu's sparse, dry hair, as if blowing away the last remaining beautiful memories. After a moment, Diệu bowed her head and trudged back home. Her solitary, frail figure gradually disappeared down the sun-drenched road.

The villagers in Miễu Đồn were being harassed by the ghost of Diệu's deceased husband. Diệu's mother-in-law had three children. Her daughter was over thirty but still unmarried. Diệu's husband was the youngest, often away from home working as a fisherman, and was rough and carefree. The eldest son was gentle and rather reclusive.

One night, under the tranquil night sky, the full moon, draped in a crimson hue, cast an ethereal light. The light was enough to illuminate the solitude within the window of a house at the end of the village. A thin figure hung suspended, legs dangling in mid-air. The eldest son had fled from the world. No one in the village of Miễu understood the reason.

That room later became the bedroom of Dieu and her husband.

***

At midday, the scorching sun, like outstretched arms, enveloped everything in its intense heat. The small village buzzed with excitement when Dieu appeared and settled herself inside her older sister's house. Many people peered through windows, then to the front door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman who was the subject of the most gossip in the village. Before them stood a gaunt woman with pale skin, sun-scarred cheeks, dull eyes, and a murmur of meaningless words. Curious glances, dismissive headshakes, and whispers filled the air.

Upon hearing the news, my older sister dropped everything at the market and rushed home. She hurriedly closed all the doors to subtly get rid of the neighbors. She fumbled with unloading the goods from the cart, awkwardly cleaning the house while secretly observing Dieu. Dieu sat silently, watching her every move.

Her heart was in turmoil. She wanted to go and hug her younger sister tightly, protecting her like she used to whenever her sister was unjustly punished. But she vaguely feared something. After a while, she calmed down and walked to the altar to light incense for her mother. She remembered her mother saying, "It's more frightening to fear the living harming each other than the dead, who can harm anyone."

Taking a deep breath, she slowly walked over and sat down beside Dieu. She reached out and took Dieu's wet, cold, trembling hands, gently separating the tightly intertwined fingers and stroking them. Dieu didn't resist. Her pale lips still trembled, stammering. She reached out and brushed away the few strands of sun-scorched hair from Dieu's forehead, her voice choked with emotion as she called out, "Dieu..."

As if she had been waiting for this moment, Dieu sobbed uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face onto her sister's hand. Her body went limp and listless. Her older sister wiped away her tears and looked up at the altar. Their mother was smiling at them through the faint, lingering smoke of incense.

Diệu stayed at her older sister's house, very gentle and kind, but she absolutely refused to go to her husband's house. Although her older sister didn't believe the rumors, she was determined to find a cure, and she took Diệu to any place that anyone recommended as a good treatment.

On a cool morning, my older sister took Dieu to the temple of the abbot. It was a small, simple temple, like an ordinary one-story house, nestled deep in a winding alley. My sister said it was a temple for the poor. The abbot was also a recluse. There was no need for medicine or treatment; just sitting with the abbot, the burdens, worries, and even the mental illnesses of the poor people in this neighborhood seemed to drift gently into the air with the incense smoke and the sound of the bell.

The two sisters sat at the tea table, waiting for the monk to pour tea and continue their conversation. The monk smiled kindly as the older sister recounted Diệu's illness. Beside them, Diệu sat quietly and obediently. Then, the monk asked a few questions. Diệu listened but did not answer. The older sister glanced over, trying to gauge her reaction. At this point, Diệu seemed rooted to the spot, her face dark and her head bowed to the ground. The monk slowly sipped his tea, sighing deeply, his gaze distant. The scent of incense still lingered. The temple bells continued to ring steadily in the main hall. Diệu faintly heard, carried on the wind, the words of the sutra: "Form is emptiness, emptiness is existence." Whether this life exists or not depends on oneself. The monk said this, then returned to the main hall.

The temple drums sounded three times. Surprisingly, Diệu's heart blossomed like lotus flowers.

***

Diệu remembered her husband once saying, "You know Mom and my sister's personalities; they just say whatever comes to mind, so don't take it to heart and tire yourself out." Diệu heard this and smiled sadly to herself. If only she could be as indifferent as her husband, her eldest brother wouldn't have become a deceased person. Wasn't it because no one understood his feelings that his family constantly pressured him, leaving him lonely, tormenting himself, and ultimately freeing himself?

It was as if all the suffering and misfortunes in her husband's family stemmed from the day Dieu became their daughter-in-law. The constant nagging and difficulties were directed straight at Dieu. Many times, Dieu wanted to fight back, but the words just choked in her throat, leaving her silent. For all those years as a daughter-in-law, Dieu swallowed her words. The venomous words tormented her mind, making her feel heavy and suffocated.

Fate played a cruel trick. The blue and red pills for depression, which she thought would soothe her to sleep while her husband was away at sea, turned into her sin. A life had been forming inside her all this time, and she was unaware of it. Then, on that rainy night, Diệu clutched her stomach in agony, helplessly watching the lump of blood slip from her body.

Diệu blamed herself, wishing she had ignored the hurtful words, wishing she had lived more carelessly, wishing she had known she was pregnant. She lay motionless in the dark room, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The blood clot had left, leaving behind an endless black hole within her, and she was slowly sinking into it, with no escape, no desire to resist. Outside the window, the moonlight flickered and danced behind the clouds, as if mocking the helplessness of the lonely woman.

Diệu secretly buried this pain in a plot of land next to the small shrine.

***

The monk saw the two sisters, Dieu and her sibling, off at the temple gate. The sun cast a golden glow on the road home. “If someone scolds you once, and you remember it for two days, then you’re the one being scolded for two days. If you remember it for a whole year, then you’ll be scolded for a whole year. And if you never forget it, then you’ve let them scold you for a lifetime. Be angry for a little while, then let it go. Why be angry? Holding onto anger is foolish, not wise. Why suffer for the rest of your life?”

On the way home, Dieu remembered the monk's final words. She could almost feel the faint, refreshing scent of incense lingering around her. She held her older sister's hand, just like when they were little and walked together down the familiar road home after school. Dieu felt incredibly lighthearted. It turned out that all the suffering and hurt she had endured for so long weren't caused by others, but by her own selfishness and attachments that had bound her. Her steps became lighter and lighter.

On her last night at her older sister's house, Dieu nestled her face against her sister's back, whispering all night. Dieu wished that after this sleep, the two sisters could return to their old well, where their mother would be waiting with a basin of steaming soapberry. When Dieu wrapped her arms around her sister's waist, her sister choked up, her trembling hands gripping Dieu's tightly as if afraid that if she let go, she would slip away.

This morning, Dieu will return to her husband's home. After days at sea, Dieu is sure her husband will miss her dearly. He will run to her, hug her, and kiss her hair. He will ask her to cook some delicious fresh fish so they can have a warm meal together, and one thing is certain: he will never believe the rumors others spread about Dieu, just as he believes in the waves that always caress the shore, no matter how much time changes the beach. Rumors are just rumors. And Dieu will always be Dieu!