Remember the "red seeds" forever

(Baonghean) - Ms. Truong Thi Cam Ha (born in 1970) has been working at the Nghe An Provincial Party Committee Nursing Home (now converted into the Nghe An Social Work Center) since 1992. After more than 20 years of working at the place that nurtured the "red seeds" of the Soviet homeland in the 1930-1931 period, she has many memories of the veteran revolutionaries here.

Please allow me to share your stories and feelings through the narrative lines written by PV of Nghe An Newspaper.

Ms. Truong Thi Cam Ha prepares to burn incense at the memorial house for revolutionary veterans.

So September 12th is coming. This day is always a big day here. Not only is it a day to celebrate and remember, but this day is also considered the “common death anniversary” of the elders - those who spent their last days and months attached to the Provincial Party Committee Nursing Home - the people who made the meaning of September 12th.

The stele listing the names of revolutionary veterans at the former Provincial Party Committee Nursing Home. Photo: Dao Tuan

We, the sisters who once served here, without anyone telling us, have become accustomed to regularly coming to take care of the memorial house, burning incense, and wiping each stele. 34 stele, 34 faces, 34 warm eyes still follow us every day. This is Mr. Sinh with his gentle smile, this is Mr. Nhuan with his serious gaze, this is Mr. Dinh, Mr. Quy, Mr. Em, Mr. Tu... I am Ha, I come here again. This incense stick, I light up my hope for our homeland, where our ancestors rest. It has been several years since the Nursing Home - our once warm home - has been quiet. Life is constantly busy, but in my heart and the hearts of the sisters here, we still miss them...

Mrs. Sinh, what do you want to say to me? Is it because you want me to buy you betel again? Oh, betel, there was only one time I missed an appointment, forgot to buy you betel, and I regret it until now. With all the elders, every word must be solemn, must be honest. Never promise and then forget. The lesson of honesty, of trust I learned from that betel. It was just a small piece of betel, but more importantly, I understood why when the elders put their hands on their chests and promised to be loyal to the Party, to the Country, the enemy's torture could not fade their will. Mrs. Nhuan, the ring I'm wearing on my hand, the keepsake you gave me, for all these years I have not taken it off my hand for a minute. I, the girl who came here when she was only 22 years old, and only got married when she was over 30. The day I got married and the day I gave birth, she told me every little thing, how to behave and how to take care of the baby.

Then one day, she suddenly called me to her bedside lovingly and said: “Ha, when I die, I want you to keep a keepsake from me. I have a salary here, I can give you money, but money is gone. Okay, take the money and buy something to keep with you, okay?” I held her 150,000 VND with tears in my eyes. I saved another 150,000 VND and bought this ring. I told her: “Here, grandma, this ring is the one you gave me. I will keep it for the rest of my life.” It was so precious and warm to me. Every time I encountered sadness in life, I rubbed my hands on it, as if finding strength, protection, comfort... I seemed to see her resolute face - the brave liaison of the Central Region Party Committee, who was imprisoned and tortured by the enemy with many brutal blows. I remember the fire on the night of September 11th that she and her comrades lit on the sandbank of Lam River, the fire was a signal for people from the communes in the secret area to bring banners, flags, slogans, sticks, spears to the center, creating the demonstration on September 12th, 1930....

Mrs. Dinh, why is her face still so pensive? Is it because there is still some personal sadness somewhere? Having never been a wife or a mother, she must have placed the ideal of "going to do revolution" at the highest level. And then, she could not bear to make anyone else suffer or implicate anyone else in her life. And here, Mr. Tich also suffered from peripheral arterial occlusion after being beaten by the enemy, and had to stay in the hospital for many months... How many times have we, Hai, Lieu, Hong, Sam, Ly... burst into tears when witnessing the last moments of their lives here. My hands have once stroked so many eyes, so that they could peacefully close in this homeland...

...Every morning, when it was my turn to be on duty, I would come across the deserted after-hours threshold. I remembered the mornings of the past, when the first rays of the sun had just appeared, the wheels of our wheelchairs rustling as we carried the elderly out to this threshold to bask in the sun. Then, there were times when I was suddenly stunned when I saw the silent faces, as if all emotions were frivolous, leaning on each wheelchair. To tell the truth, many times, I almost let my sympathy take over. Yes, just one step away from this wall, there was a bustling city. Yet the elderly here seemed so unfamiliar with all the changes out there. Yes, in the past, they had a vibrant youth and now they were burdened with old age, even lacking support... Until one day, I suddenly realized that I was the one who deserved sympathy. Who gave me the peaceful life today, to see the sunny mornings, to admire the bright pink daffodils right on this doorstep? Who gave the city out there the dream of reaching high, who gave it the vitality, who gave it the youthful appearance? My youth, what was there, besides the dream of a job, the dream of a warm family, receiving enough salary to live each day...? Isn't it true that the calm look on the faces of those who are struck by old age and illness is the calmness of the high, cloud-covered mountains. The quiet mountains, which have been made from many aftershocks of the earth, through many hardships of sun and rain...

How many nights on duty, in silent rooms, I sat massaging the feet and shoulders of the elders, suddenly bursting into tears when I heard the irony of an elder: Fighting the East, pacifying the North, and all that is left is these bones. Thin, weak legs, trembling or immobile legs, even legs that were no longer intact after being tortured by the enemy's whips... These same legs, when they were eighteen or twenty, nimbly and firmly led the demonstrations of the "Red Peasant Association", "Red Self-Defense Force", "Red Red Guard", "Red Trade Union", "Liberated Women"...

This step has joined the steps of 8,000 miserable people, along with patriots to create a storm that broke the chains, the steps that "rocked the sky and shook the earth" that day. Now, on a single mat, those feet have stopped to rest on the journey of life. Peacefully.

Oh, the serenity. How foolish I was not to realize that only those feet, only those hearts, have the right to be serene. Calm because they have lived the most beautiful life, because they have lived a life dedicated to their homeland and country.

Today, blades of grass and green moss have been added to the foot of the wall. The jackfruit tree has grown older, the squash bushes are blooming yellow flowers. The row of houses - the old home, now no longer has the shadow of the old people sitting in the sun, watching TV or reading newspapers... I feel unsteady every time I reach the steps. It's been so many years, but I still can't forget. There are times, as if it's an illusion, I still see the faces, still see the red lips, still hear the sound of the wheelchair... I miss the daily chores so much, going to the market, inviting people to eat, combing hair, wrapping scarves, comforting them to measure their blood pressure, making betel, doing laundry... I miss the sighs, the coughs, the contemplation, the silence, the strictness, the kindness...

The young girl that I am has been here since my first days of confusion, and then considered this as my beloved home, considered the people I take care of here as my own parents, grandparents... Only now, I know, a part of my flesh and blood is in this place.

I am just an ordinary, hard-working woman, somewhat austere, blending in with the crowd of the city. But why do I still feel so happy and lucky? Not only because I am cherished, cared for, and surrounded by the “red seeds” of my homeland, but also because from here I know I must live my life to the fullest with a pure heart. I can be poor, but I cannot be cowardly. I can be hungry, but I cannot be dishonest or corrupt. That is what my elders told me back then.

Honesty, kindness, and courage have sustained me through life.

Thuy Vinh(take note)