The wind came from her hands…

(Baonghean) - My grandmother's small thatched house was nestled amidst the lush green of betel nut trees. As a child, whenever I heard the sound of betel nut sheaths falling in the square courtyard, I would often pick them up and my grandmother would make them into pretty little betel nut fans...

From the fragrant, sun-dried palm fronds, my grandmother skillfully cut them into small, perfectly sized palm-leaf fans. The summer in Central Vietnam was scorching hot, blazing from early morning until late afternoon, threatening to incinerate everything. Therefore, the palm-leaf fan became an indispensable item for my grandmother and me during the summer months. While she cooked in the kitchen or mended clothes by the window, beads of sweat would trickle down her wrinkled forehead. Seeing this, I would toddle over and fan her with the fan. She would look at me affectionately, smiling toothlessly, "Only Tèo loves Grandma the most!"…

My grandmother hung her hammock between two old betel palm trees. Every midday, my grandmother and I would come here to escape the heat. Lying in the hammock, I happily counted the chirping sparrows calling to each other in the lush green canopy of the betel palms, my eyes drifting off to sleep without me even realizing it. My grandmother sat beside me, gently fanning herself with a palm-leaf fan, slowly singing a lullaby: "Bờm has a palm-leaf fan / The rich man wants to trade three cows and nine buffaloes / Bờm says Bờm won't take the buffaloes / The rich man wants to trade a deep pond full of carp..." Her hand moved the fan rhythmically. The wind, one after another, joyfully swept over my hair and skin, cooling me down. And so, my soul harmonized with the steady creaking of the hammock, the gentle, cool breeze, and my grandmother's sweet singing, before I drifted off to sleep...

Illustration: Nam Phong

In a peaceful afternoon dream, I saw the image of Bờm wearing linen trousers and a brown shirt, holding an old palm-leaf fan. Facing the rich man's offers, Bờm innocently shook his head and refused. Waking from the dream, the image of the palm-leaf fan and Bờm's triumphant smile haunted me. I told my grandmother about the dream and wondered how there could be someone as foolish as Bờm. Patting my head, she gently explained, "Bờm isn't as foolish as you think! He refused because the rich man is very cunning. He only wanted to use sweet words to lure Bờm into giving him the fan! Having realized his scheme, Bờm cleverly responded to expose the rich man's true nature! So, is Bờm intelligent or foolish?" I whispered back, "I wish I could be Bờm too!"

The gentle breeze from my grandmother's palm-leaf fan filled my soul with profound, melodious folk songs and stories brimming with philosophy. And so, as I grew up, I suddenly realized I had unknowingly drifted away from her loving care, from the small thatched house surrounded by the lush green of the towering betel nut trees. Sometimes, I wonder, how can I return to those days? The hustle and bustle of life may make me forget many things, but I will never forget the image of my grandmother's thin, sun-tanned hands gently fanning me with the palm-leaf fan, soothing me as I lay in my hammock, even during the sweltering summer heat.

Nowadays, electric fans and air conditioners have replaced those makeshift fans made from palm fronds. The rustic palm-leaf fans are no longer seen in modern, spacious homes. But my grandmother still keeps those simple palm-leaf fans at the bottom of her wardrobe, as a way to remember, to cherish, and to gaze upon the days gone by...

Today, I saw a friend's Facebook post of a palm-leaf fan with the caption: "Who still remembers?" Suddenly, I felt a pang of emotion. I imagined the day I would return to my grandmother's side, lying on the bamboo bed by the window on a moonlit night, her slender hands fanning me gently. Outside the small window, the fragrant scent of betel nut flowers lingered. I would tell her about the joys and sorrows I'd experienced, read her the poems and short stories I'd published, and then fall into a deep sleep in her arms, without a care in the world. And I would dream again the dream of my childhood, the dream of meeting Bờm with the palm-leaf fan. Only there, would the word "peace" truly be restored to its rightful meaning!

Deep within my heart, the cool breeze from my grandmother's palm-leaf fan still lingers, blowing on and on...

Phan Duc Loc