A remote island…

(Baonghean) - Tonight was a sleepless night. Nha tossed and turned on the cramped folding bed in the courtyard of his rented room, his thoughts jumbled, flickering, and fragmented amidst the buzzing sound of swatting mosquitoes. Nha thought about his trip to Khanh Hoa early tomorrow morning, and how soon he would be leaving the mainland for the island. Nha couldn't remember how many such early morning trips he had made in his journalistic career.

But this time, something felt different, as if a mixture of sadness and unease stirred within Nha. Gently glancing into the dark room with its door wide open, Nha smelled the scent of little Bin's skin. Oh, that sweet, milky scent of a child's flesh easily soothed anger and resentment. Nha thought he heard his young wife sigh, but he couldn't offer any comfort or reassurance. It wasn't that Nha didn't love her; it was simply that his own heart had withered and grown weary after so many years. And Vy was just childishly sulking…

Nha is almost 40 years old, and after more than a decade of working in journalism, he feels his life has become quite worn out. Having worked for four newspapers and experienced all kinds of joys, sorrows, loves, and hates in life, Nha now realizes that he probably wrote for work rather than for passion as he had always thought. When he was in school, Nha had an overly idealistic view of journalism. Oh dear! Thinking back now, Nha feels his face burning with shame.

To be honest, perhaps every writer has felt ashamed at least once, just like Nha. Because life isn't a lesson in a textbook. Sometimes, the pen in one's hand has to be gripped so tightly that it bleeds, because one doesn't want others to bend it. Sometimes, after finishing an article, Nha curses herself for writing such bland stuff just for a few pennies in royalties. Writing convoluted things to entertain readers, to sell more newspapers, to secure advertising contracts…

Where did those initial noble ideals go? Why does every morning feel like the burden of making a living weighs heavily on his pen? Nha is exhausted, like a weary farmer plowing a vast, dry field. He's thought about quitting many times, but what else would he do? Then Nha blames himself. Maybe it's just his own lack of talent and ability; his colleagues all need to eat to live, yet some do their jobs very well. Or maybe he hasn't found a suitable place to work and contribute. Or perhaps Nha has made a mistake somewhere, in some link in the chain?

But Vy didn't understand, thinking he was happy on his travels, so she constantly criticized him. Like tonight, when she heard he would be going with a group of reporters to the island to gather the true situation in the South China Sea during these turbulent days, Vy sulked, refused to eat, turned her back, and cried bitterly, ignoring her crying child. But now, lying here thinking about the waves tomorrow, Nha suddenly felt so sorry for Vy. They were both women, yet her friends were happy and carefree, while Vy suffered because of him. Knowing this, Nha should have stayed single. Nha's eyes welled up with tears as he thought about his anger last night. He had hit his child hard out of frustration with his wife. The little boy screamed and fell into his mother's arms; just now Nha heard his child sobbing sadly. He must have been in pain. Nha was terrible…

Nha guessed Vy couldn't sleep either, partly because of the heat, and partly because she was thinking too much. Nha was leaving tomorrow, and he couldn't possibly refuse, as it was both a duty assigned by the editorial office and an honor. Many other colleagues had eagerly volunteered, but the team had chosen him. Nha was also exhausted, but journalism was the profession he had chosen. Wasn't Vy the one who had initially fallen in love with Nha because she loved his work? Nha's heart sank, heavy and numb with jumbled and tangled thoughts. He got up quietly and went inside, lying down beside his wife and child. He felt Vy's shoulders tremble, and gently put his arm around her back, comforting her with all his compassion:

It's late... go to sleep, dear.

- What time are you leaving tomorrow?

- I'll be leaving early so I won't wake you and the kids. I'll be back soon, so don't worry too much and get sick.

Vy turned around and snuggled her head against Nha's chest. The night air had cooled down, perhaps perfect for a deep sleep after a hot day. Little Bin lay sprawled out, sleeping soundly after an hour of crying.

***

Nha was on board the ship carrying reporters to Truong Sa. She seemed a little nervous, perhaps because of the waves or because the mainland had receded and disappeared into the vast expanse of sea. Her colleagues all seemed brimming with enthusiasm for this assignment. And rightly so, as the situation in the South China Sea had been very tense since China illegally placed the HD 981 oil rig in Vietnam's exclusive economic zone. They were all key reporters from their respective newspapers, full of passion despite their age; they reminded Nha of herself many years ago. Oh! Nha longed to live as vibrantly as the red flag with a yellow star fluttering in this vast ocean. Leaving all worries behind on the mainland, Nha had to rekindle her passion. At this moment, Nha, like all her colleagues, was only concerned with one thing: closely following and reporting on the situation in the South China Sea with authentic photographs, accurate assessments, and practical information. Only by coming here can one fully understand the courage, composure, and resourcefulness of the coast guards, as well as the unwavering dedication of the fisheries inspectors in the face of all invasion attempts. They have lived resiliently like waves against every storm and danger. They nurture their faith and love, even though tomorrow they may perish in the depths of this sea.

The fisheries patrol vessel numbered 9296, carrying Nha and several other reporters, approached the HD 981 oil rig. After being attacked by Chinese ships, a fierce battle of water cannons ensued. From the ship's cabin, Nha could feel the tremendous water pressure from the water cannons. This was in addition to the earlier, forceful ramming of the ship's hull, which had caused everything to rock violently. Nha sensed something was wrong; his head reeled with each rocking motion of the ship. His colleagues' voices rang in his ears, short, decisive questions filled with confidence and fearlessness. In that instant, many memories flashed through Nha's mind. He remembered a trip from over ten years ago, when he was just starting out in his career. He and his colleagues were writing an investigative report on the issue of fare evasion on ships, with only enough money for a ticket and three stale loaves of bread in their pockets.

The train derailed after colliding with a truck attempting to cross the tracks. The impact sent Nha crashing headfirst into the window. His head ached, his vision blurred, and he felt dizzy, as if he were about to faint. When he finally regained consciousness, he frantically searched for his colleagues, and the two embraced, relieved to be alive. Nha remembered the time he was hit by a car while on assignment, thrown onto the highway in the pitch darkness with cars speeding by. Or the times he followed forest rangers through the dark jungle, startled by gunshots in the middle of the night. When he emerged from the jungle, his face haggard, his beard unkempt like a beast, he breathed a sigh of relief knowing he was still alive. Nha had endured countless such hardships in his profession, but it seemed he had never felt such danger as this time amidst the vast, turbulent sea.

The ship was hit hard again, the impact jolting Nha back from his memories to reality. The glass might shatter, and the risk of casualties would be very high. Nha wasn't afraid of danger or death. The vague fear that Nha felt lay on land. Last night, Nha received a message from Vy saying that little Bin had a high fever. Restless all night, gazing out at the vast ocean, Nha suddenly thought, what if he didn't return? How would his wife and child live then? Now that thought returned, but Nha felt absolutely no fear. He saw himself from many years ago, more resolute and steadfast. Yes, maybe Nha wouldn't return…

The boat rocked violently, sending Nha tumbling forward. For some reason, Nha thought of the houses peeking out from behind the square-leaved banyan trees. The people living there carefully tended to every handful of soil, every green vegetable, every drop of fresh water. They lacked many things, but their human kindness was abundant. The laughter of children mingled with the sound of the waves, returning to her heart an endless sense of peace. Nha could sit for hours listening to the elementary school lessons or watching the fishing boats return to shore after a night of casting their nets. The strong men, with their salty, sea-worn smiles, never forgot to share some of their catch with the soldiers.

Suddenly, Nha thought how incredibly wealthy they were. Watching them live, thinking about them, Nha felt insignificant. Her own arduous struggle for survival was nothing compared to theirs. Yet, day and night, Nha tormented and reproached herself. She frowned and moped like a tree without water. She made the family atmosphere even more suffocating and gloomy. Had Nha ever tried living as selflessly as they did? Journalism had given Nha the opportunity to travel and live. Like now, amidst the dangerous sea and islands, Nha suddenly felt the flame of passion within her being rekindled, as if it had never died out. Nha suddenly missed her young wife and innocent child, wanting to reach out across the ocean and embrace them…

His colleagues' voices still echoed firmly in his ears. The brave crew members stood resolutely at the bow, using water cannons to block the enemy ship. The confrontation, which lasted over an hour, was finally over, and the damage had been assessed. Valuable photographs had been taken, information gathered, and all the wandering thoughts had long since vanished from Nha's mind. Nha only thought about the urgent task of completing the report to send back to the mainland, where so many people were waiting anxiously. Among them were Nha's wife and children…

Vu Huyen Trang