Street vendor's wares of childhood

(Baonghean) - I spent my childhood surrounded by cinemas and entertainment centers in Vinh City. It wasn't that I was particularly passionate about art or entertainment, because at that time my family didn't have the means to indulge in such luxuries. I went to cinemas and theaters to sell goods!

It's funny, when I was eight years old, in third grade, I wished I had a Styrofoam box. I would wrap a piece of floral fabric inside that big but lightweight box, and inside the floral fabric I would place a pristine white mosquito net – the kind of cotton fabric my mother used to make mosquito nets. The floral fabric and the white net would then wrap around the ice cream sticks.

I'll go sell coconut milk ice cream and mung bean ice cream, calling out my wares with the same buzzing whistle that adults usually use. Even though it's just my imagination, sometimes I worry that I might eat up all my ice cream because I'm craving it so much.

Why did I have that ridiculous wish? It's because, when I was selling sunflower seeds and cigarettes at the movie theater, I saw how much the ice cream vendors were making. What child could resist craving a steaming, cool ice cream cone, especially on a summer evening at the theater? However, I kept my desire for a Styrofoam box to sell ice cream on the street a secret. Because I knew my parents would never approve. Even the idea of ​​my sisters and I selling goods on the street every evening was beyond their comprehension.

This area used to be a movie theater serving the city's audience. (PV)

In the early days of the currency reform, life was quite difficult for the majority of city officials and workers. My parents were both government officials, but even with their salaries, it was still incredibly hard to feed our family of six. To improve our income, my mother raised pigs, chickens, and ducks. We usually only raised two pigs at a time, because the space in our apartment building wasn't enough to raise more, and more importantly, what would we feed them if we raised more? We only raised about ten chickens, and a few dozen ducks in two ponds dug by bombs during the war. I don't know what life is like in the remaining apartment buildings now, but back then, many families raised livestock like mine.

Thanks to raising pigs and chickens, at the end of the year and during Tet (Lunar New Year), the children had new clothes, and when we had guests, we just had to go to the chicken coop to gather a few eggs, which eased our hardship. However, for some reason, that year my family was extremely poor. Every pig we raised died. My mother cycled all the way to Tro Market, Sao Market, and even as far as Dien Chau to buy piglets, but they all failed. Worse still, after raising about 30-40 pigs, they would get sick and die. "It was leptospirosis," my mother said.

I don't know what kind of "poverty" it was, but hardship had more reasons to enter our home. Out of love for our mother, my eldest sister spent half the day studying and the other half selling vegetables. Initially, she sold bunches of mustard greens and radishes cut from our garden, then she went to Vinh market to buy vegetables to sell at smaller, makeshift markets. Our mother couldn't stop her; after all, a grown woman needs more clothes and nice shoes, so she turned away, wiping away tears, and let her sell vegetables. We were younger and didn't know what to do to help the family get through this difficult time.

In our neighborhood, there were a few older kids, a few years older than me, who already knew how to earn money to help the adults. At night, especially on Saturday and Sunday nights, when there were movies or traditional opera performances at cinemas like 12-9, Cua Dong, the City Theater (later the Intimex supermarket), and the City Cultural and Sports Center, they would all flock there. They sold goods on the street. Each of them carried a wooden box with a sliding glass door on their chest. Inside were watermelon seeds, sunflower seeds, cigarettes, roasted peanuts, peanut candy, etc. Following the example of our eldest sister, my three sisters and I asked the younger kids to let us "learn the trade."

The hardest part was figuring out how to "change" my mother's mindset. My mother had always been gentle and kind, but also very profound and serious. We discussed it with my eldest sister, and only after much deliberation did we quietly ask her. She didn't say anything. She silently came to me and gently nuzzled her face against the curly hair of her youngest son. Suddenly, with tears welling up in her eyes, she asked me, "Do you want some ice cream?" I answered childishly, "One ice cream costs half a pound of rice, Mom." As I write these lines, I miss my mother very much.

Then, we became street vendors. In the summer, we didn't have to go to school, and every day my sisters would go and get candy, sunflower seeds, rolled cigarettes, etc., to sell in the evening. Everything was fine, except for the sunflower seeds and roasted peanuts, which were more complicated. That's because after roasting them, we had to pack them into small plastic bags. The peanuts, in particular, had to be roasted with basil and put into small plastic bags about the size of a child's toe, about 15cm long.

Some kids in the neighborhood even suggested my sisters and me mix artificial sweeteners into the peanuts, but Mom wouldn't let us. The plastic bags were heated over an oil lamp to seal them. Bags of sunflower seeds and melon seeds were tied together in a chain, like the shampoo bags we see today. I went selling them with the other girls, but each night I was only assigned to carry bags of melon seeds slung over my shoulder, with a few packs of cigarettes in my hand.

We were at the movie theater, where there were plays and traditional Vietnamese opera, and we'd greet every young couple we met. At first, we felt a bit embarrassed, but then we got used to it. Usually, the two things that sold the most were cigarettes and sunflower seeds. I thought, nothing could be more enjoyable for couples than sitting in the theater watching a movie and crunching on them. During one summer, my sisters and I went to many places, but the most frequent stop was the city movie theater, which later became the Cultural and Sports Center on Le Mao Street. Because it was closer to our house than anywhere else.

As far as I remember, the movie theater also served as a volleyball court. In the afternoons, people played volleyball, and in the evenings, they sold movie tickets. Because we were street vendors, we knew almost all the films that were showing. Films like: "That Day on the Banks of the Lam River," "The 17th Parallel Day and Night," "When Will It Be October," "The Little Girl from Hanoi," "Sister Su," "The Cards Are Stacked Against You," "Saigon Commando"... we knew all the ticket sales dates, schedules, and showtimes.

The little girl selling goods on the street. Photo: Le Thang

My sister and I also got to see all those films, but mostly… the second half. Because when all the other customers had gone inside, and the film was already two-thirds of the way through, we were finally let in by the gatekeeper. At those times, there were no seats or anything; we just sat flat on the ground in the middle of the field, craning our necks in horror and anger at Sam (in the film "Sister Su") or reveling in the sight of the American helicopter crashing into the flooded fields (in the film "The Wild Field")… There were also times I managed to sneak past the ticket checker and sneak inside right at the beginning of the screening. And inside, I sold all my sunflower seeds and cigarettes, regretting not bringing more.

There was also a time when the grumpy ticket inspector grabbed me by the ear and dragged me outside. This "business" wasn't always smooth sailing. Many times my sisters and I were robbed of our candy, snacks, and cigarettes by unruly youths. Then there were numerous clashes due to competition among other groups of children. We agreed not to tell our parents, especially our mother, about all these complications and grievances.

During my days selling tickets on the street, I was particularly impressed by a guy the kids called Cuong "the Dirty." My "colleagues" explained that he was a genuine ticket scalper. Whenever the cinema started selling tickets for a new movie, Cuong was always the first to arrive. And to buy as many tickets as possible, he would often make himself look dirty and smelly by carrying a bag of pig manure and pushing his way through the crowd. People would recoil in disgust, but Cuong "the Dirty" would calmly take the tickets for the best seats.

One day, Cuong "the dirty one" gave me two movie tickets and said, "I'm giving these to you, older sister." Of course, I firmly refused because my sister and I were taught not to accept anything from anyone without our parents' permission. Moreover, Cuong had to sell tickets because he was poor, enduring the dirt and shame to earn money. This disappointed him a little, but he remained kind to my sister and me, especially since no one dared bully us when he was around.

Those difficult summers are over. The old cinemas and theaters no longer have the bustling atmosphere they once did. The first time I took my mother to the movies was when I was 25. Just my mother and I, because my sisters had all gotten married. It was 2002, we went to the 12-9 cinema. That day, "The Lord of the Rings" was showing. I sat beside my mother in the theater, and when I turned to look, I saw her dozing off in her seat. My mother always loved watching movies, but she had been ill for over a year. I sat there feeling incredibly sorry for her and incredibly guilty. That was also the last time I watched a movie with my mother.

Van Nhi