The old people are truly naive.
Short stories by Che Dinh Cuong
Short stories by Che Dinh Cuong
Viet walked irritably towards the gate. He crossed the red dirt road and stood by the riverbank, in front of the provincial center for the care of elderly people living alone. The wind tore at him in gusts, stinging his face. Inside, Mr. Ba Non sat listlessly on a stone bench. His earlier words kept echoing in Viet's head: "Those bamboo stalks are too far apart, how can you bend them to make lanterns? That was in the old days..."
Why do all the older people say that? It's already difficult enough to find and obtain bamboo, and now they're being so picky. Viet thought this when he met Mr. Ba Non's frown. He began to regret his presence here. If only his father had provided a little more funding, he might very well be curled up in his rented room in Saigon for the entire summer of his second year of university.
***
The center announced that this year's Mid-Autumn Festival would feature a talent show. Mrs. Tư slammed her hand on the table, laughing heartily, and declared she would play Chang'e: "My time has come!" Then Mr. Hai excitedly pushed Mr. Ba Non forward to register with Viet, performing the song "Thằng Cuội" (The Trickster). Everyone at the center knew Mr. Ba Non was having an affair with… his guitar, which only had four strings left. Meanwhile, Mr. Hai loved playing in the rain and sand, and Mr. Tám was so addicted to chess he'd skip meals. Showing his nearly gone teeth, Mr. Hai added, "If we need some applause, we have Mr. Tám, who's using a cane but is still very capable!" As he spoke, Mr. Hai pointed towards a bald old man sneaking out of the hall. On this side, Mrs. Tư, Mrs. Năm, and Mrs. Sáu were pushing Mrs. Bảy's wheelchair up. The group was planning to perform some song with a line...tung-dinh-dinh-cac-tung-dinh-dinhThe old women were dancing and singing enthusiastically. The hall suddenly became unusually noisy. So, it's time for the competition! There are more than 30 days to prepare until the Mid-Autumn Festival. Viet took on the responsibility with a wry smile.
At night, in the town center, it was the same in every season. The river breeze, laden with the scent of laurel, gently enveloped the rows of rooms, further emphasizing its inherent tranquility. Since registering for the competition, Mr. Ba had been diligently practicing. After a week, feeling unwell, he tossed and turned every night. He suddenly changed his mind and wanted to make a dove lantern for the competition. Viet thought, "Old people are just like the weather here: sunny in the morning, rainy in the afternoon, and a light breeze at night."
One day, unable to find bamboo, Viet stopped by the center to hang out. He happened to be there after the women's group finished their performance, and everyone gathered around a stone table covered in fallen plum blossoms, listening to Mrs. Nam gossip about Mr. Ba. Rumors circulated that he had once gone to the Seven Mountains region, far away in An Giang, to study magic, and that he had a hunched posture like someone from another world. The situation was particularly strange during the Covid-19 pandemic. The government wanted to bring homeless people here, so the local police sent officers to Cau Loi to look for him. But it was no use! One day they'd see a burning bed frame. Another day they'd see his shirt floating on the river. It was a real struggle for people to put out fires and dive to rescue him. But they never found anyone! Then, one day, they decided to sit stubbornly on the bank. The moon was high in the sky, and he calmly emerged from the river, pushing through the water hyacinths. The policeman asked Mr. Ba if he wasn't cold. He shivered and asked the policeman why they were waiting so patiently in the rain and wind. They were waiting for him to bring him back here so his old body could be at peace, but he was being so stubborn.
To keep the conversation flowing, Mrs. Tư added, "How many people are as fortunate as Mrs. Bảy and Mr. Tám? They have children to take care of them, but they're afraid their children will suffer. They say it's better here." Mrs. Năm continued telling the story of Mrs. Sáu, who "worships money." Mrs. Sáu was also fortunate. Her children put her in a private nursing home, paid for a few months, then sold the house and disappeared; then the government had to round them up and bring them here. But if you mention her children, she defends them fiercely. How strange!
Viet listened, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, old people are really something!" he thought.
***
Viet had wholeheartedly complied with Mr. Ba's wishes. But, since the bamboo segments were too far apart, would bending them into a lantern really break? Now, Viet didn't care; let Mr. Ba do whatever he wanted. He stood by the river for a while to calm down, then went back to the town center to get his motorbike and go home. Upon arriving home, Viet turned off his phone and threw it aside, remaining so for the next few days.
Mr. Ba sat there like a statue for a moment, then gathered the bamboo and put it away in the storeroom. He wasn't angry with Viet. His mind was preoccupied with thinking about how to make dove wings, how to make them flap up and down… like in the old days. “Only my older brother remembers!” – Mr. Ba stared intently at the lizard crawling on the mosquito net. The night was halfway over. Then, he jumped up, grabbed the guitar beside him. Afterward, he pulled the blanket back over Mr. Hai as he passed the bed, before going out onto the veranda to get some fresh air. It had just finished a heavy rain.
Four days had passed, and Viet had gotten over what happened that day. As soon as he turned his phone back on, Mr. Ba called. His voice was a mix of laughter as he asked if Viet was still angry. Viet felt a strange unease. The next morning, Viet went straight to the center's Board of Directors' office. On his way out, he hurriedly drove Mr. Ba through the gate. Strangely, the security guards saw this but remained calmly seated, their legs shaking. The kitchen staff, witnessing the scene, also started murmuring.
After turning nearly a dozen streets from memory, Mr. Ba finally arrived at his destination. He gazed at the house for a long time before stepping inside alone. Instantly, a flip-flop flew out, narrowly missing Viet, who was standing leaning against his motorbike, using his phone in the yard. Mr. Ba, his face like a scolded child, came back out and told Viet to drive him home.
On the way, Viet counted that his father had sighed nearly a dozen times. At times, he couldn't hear anything. During those moments, Viet felt as if a boulder was pressing down on his chest. At the center's gate, Viet watched his father trudge inside, his shadow stretching long across the courtyard. For several days afterward, Mr. Ba didn't discuss anything further with Viet.
***
One day, Viet hesitated before the dilapidated three-room, two-wing wooden house he had visited the other day. He tried to compose his words before speaking. Now, alone, Viet paid close attention to everything. The earthen courtyard had puddles of water in places, and the grass was growing sparsely. To the left of the altar was a clump of gleaming bamboo, swaying in the sunlight. But how silent it was! He could hear the rustling of falling leaves. He could smell the scent of ripe fruit from the surrounding garden.
Suddenly, there was a crisp cracking sound inside. Immediately, Viet ran in. He saw an old man groaning softly on a wooden platform. Around him were various sizes of hot oil, medical supplies, two bowls of porridge—one half-eaten, the other unwashed and dried—and a jumble of pillows and blankets smelling of urine. It seemed the old man had knocked something over. When Viet reached under his back to help him up, the old man cried out in pain. It was probably due to a sore on his elbow that was stuck to the mat. Seeing this, Viet immediately disinfected the wound and gave the old man water. After everything was done, Viet explained the reason for his sudden intrusion.
After hearing the boy's words, the old man fell into deep thought. That boy… Back then, I made lanterns for him to compete in, that's who. Growing up, he suddenly disregarded family traditions and etiquette. He ignored his father's guidance on career paths, and even fell for a girl who sold tickets for variety shows. Foolishly, he started learning to sing and play musical instruments. His father disowned him and chased him away. Is it so difficult to apologize and mend his ways? Then his father died, and under what pretext did he return to mourn? Knowing his father was buried in our field, near Cau Loi, he stayed there. Before, we had a dog. Whenever we heard it barking loudly, we knew he was lurking near the fence, the bamboo grove, the banana bushes. Now… he's in prison, isn't he?
While massaging his legs, Viet replied that it was the Elderly Care Center, then looked at the family photo on the wall. Seemingly understanding, the old man explained that the children did all the work, and only one of them came home for a short while at lunchtime before going back to work.
The story continued to haunt Viet for days afterward.
***
As the festival night approached, Mr. Ba… ran away. Typical old man! The whole center seemed to be in chaos. His friends could only look at each other, or at the trees and grass. Bewildered. Heartbroken. Viet told everyone that although he wasn't sure, he would try to find him. Arriving at the suspected location, Viet witnessed an unforgettable scene.
The old man from the other day, holding his daughter-in-law's hand, went outside. Several young men were cutting down the bamboo grove, leaving only a few shoots on the ground, under the direction of a man, presumably the old man's son. And there he was, Mr. Ba standing silently in the middle of the yard. A moment later, Mr. Ba knelt down, facing the house, his arms crossed, like a child in the old days. He said something, but Viet was standing by the fence so he couldn't hear clearly. He only saw the old man pat Mr. Ba on the shoulder a few times, then they hugged each other, sobbing.
This time, Viet had a harder time bringing Mr. Ba back to the center than before, because there were more bamboo poles...
***
As the stage lights blazed, Viet and the staff carefully helped each elderly person onto the stage. At the judges' table, the center's director, usually very serious, was grinning from ear to ear. He whispered to the cook sitting nearby that the judging was haphazard and that the contestants might not be able to go home. Seeing his cheerful demeanor, the cook quietly asked why the director had Viet escort Mr. Ba out of the venue. Looking intently at the stage wings, where Viet was busily attending to his duties, the director choked up, saying, "Well… he's my son!"
Mr. Ba, holding his newly re-stringed instrument, began the song "The Trickster" with a rhythmic, tinkling melody. Hang Nga, wrapped in curtains and mosquito nets, gracefully danced. A moment later, Mr. Tam, wearing a lion head mask and leaning on a cane, hobbled onto the stage. Following him was Mrs. Nam, playing the Earth Goddess, fanning herself, almost dropping her fake belly onto the floor. Then, the entire hall joined in singing. When the music changed to "The August Lantern Procession," Viet, along with Mr. Hai, brought out a paper lantern shaped like a dove, decorated with cotton. Each wing had a string attached to a stick, allowing for lively clapping. In the shimmering light, Viet saw Mr. Ba's older brother sitting at the back of the hall. He waved towards his younger brother, his lips moving along to the song:Tung-ding-ding-cac-tung-ding-ding…
