Looking forward to the day of return…

(Baonghean) - Nearly 30 years ago, a troupe of artists performed in T.D village, a small hamlet on the left bank of the Lam River. Among the troupe of artists, there was a beautiful, famous young actress. Even though her belly was tightly wrapped, people still knew she was pregnant, and it was said that the pregnancy was the "work" of the troupe leader. A passionate love affair had pushed the girl to the point of becoming pregnant without a husband...

The night ended, and she went into labor, and a healthy baby boy was born, with a cry that signaled a fateful past life, a stormy life... The leaders of the art troupe met to discuss and the final solution was for the young mother to hold back her tears and give away her own flesh and blood. At the moment of parting, the young woman cried until her eyes were dry... After the art troupe and the young mother left, the baby screamed miserably...

Illustration: Hong Toai

The child was taken in by a woman named Sung to take care of. The old people in the village recounted that at that time, Mr. and Mrs. Sung opened a goat meat restaurant: raw goat, stir-fried goat, goat blood pudding... The goat meat dish had the effect of nourishing vitality, helping customers have many children, but unfortunately, heaven had punished them, they had no children, and were hopeless. When they heard the female artist bring the child, Mr. and Mrs. Sung were moved and welcomed the child into their arms, so heaven and earth took pity on them, giving them a little joy, to rely on when they were old and weak.

Living in a wealthy family, and being well taken care of, the child grew up very quickly. Mr. and Mrs. Sung looked at their beautiful child, blooming with each piece of their heart. Mr. Sung chose for a long time and finally gave him a very satisfactory name: Nguyen Van Vinh. He was the treasure of his family and also the treasure of the old couple in their twilight years.

That child named Vinh was me. Time flew by, I grew up and carried within me a great inferiority complex of being an illegitimate child. People often talked behind my back, some even said it to my face. People asked: Does your birth mother ever come to visit you?

Perhaps, I inherited the artistic genes of my biological parents. When I grew up, besides being tall and handsome, I was also very good at playing musical instruments and singing. In the communal cultural nights and weddings, I was always the “star”, and when the province held a “Good Singing” contest… I participated and won second prize. With that “reputation”, I was later invited to work at the district cultural office, but because of my inferiority complex, I refused.

The misery inside me is the inferiority complex in my already sensitive heart. It seems that the sadder I am, the better my voice seems to be, it is mournful and makes people cry. It is because of my appearance and voice that many girls are infatuated with me and are willing to follow me.

Among the young girls who were crazy about me at that time, there was Miss Lam, the daughter of the chairman of a neighboring commune. The chairman also had a difficult time having children, he only had one daughter, Lam. Lam was beautiful, white skin, red lips, long hair... Many people proposed to her but Lam chose me. The chairman was an experienced person, he understood the ups and downs of the artist in me, along with my background as an illegitimate child, making it impossible for him to accept his daughter following me. He forbade, he threatened, he warned, he tried every way to destroy our love. But oh my god! The more he tried to stop us, the more determined we seemed to be to be together. In the end, I saw him lose, he lost everything, had to entrust his only daughter to me - the village artist. So Lam and I got married. Almost a year later, our first daughter was born, the house was filled with joy. My parents raised me like a child again when they heard the sound of a baby babbling in the house.

After a period of passion, I felt that family life was cramped and boring. All the realities that were exposed made me disappointed. The crying child, the sick child, the sometimes irritable wife... The wandering spirit rose up in me again. I went to sing again, at any communal house festival, village, hamlet, commune... In any party, the crowd wanted me. Being too proud of my "fame", I became arrogant and reckless. I practiced drinking more, being an artist means being drunk, only when drunk can I sing well, be emotional, and compassionate... So from then on, after parties, people saw a guy staggering, sluggish, one foot short, one foot long, on the village road...

When I got home, I threw up and threw up. My wife was scared, cried, begged, but I ignored her… Once, when I was drunk, I even dragged my wife out and beat her up. Unable to bear it any longer, my wife took the children and went back to her parents’ house. I didn’t care, I just kept singing, kept getting drunk, and even worse, I started gambling. I indulged all my desires. I was always at the casino night after night and always lost everything… I sold everything in the house, TV, cabinets, bicycles… and left one by one! At that moment of desperation, I was thrown into the mud by my wife’s decision: She disowned me, throwing back my one-year-old daughter! Vinh was abandoned by his wife. Oh my, that news was humiliating for a proud, self-conscious person like me. The humiliation drove me crazy. I destroyed everything, sold all my belongings and property and burned them in casinos…

My parents cried their eyes out. My father fell ill with depression. At his last moment, he asked someone to call me back from the casino and said, “Vinh, you have gambled away all the assets your parents built over the decades. I beg you… after I die… there will only be your mother’s coffin left in the house, don’t sell it… If you sell it… your mother must be buried with a mat when she dies… my child!” The “human” part of me rose up at that moment, I fell to my knees, at my father’s funeral, I cried miserably… The following days, I heard that my wife had remarried, and this new husband was said to be very rich. My hope of resuming the marriage had collapsed. I went to my father’s altar to light a stick of incense, while over there my mother was lying flat on the bed, groaning in pain… I drank two whole bottles of wine without getting drunk, just sad, heart-wrenchingly sad.

I held my little child in my arms and lamented: “My child… your mother is married…”. My daughter was bewildered: “Mom is married, so you should get married too, Dad!…”. Hearing her say that, my heart ached. That night, seeing my tears streaming down, my daughter sat up and asked: “Dad! Why are you crying? Who hit you? Let me hit you back…”. I reached for the guitar, but couldn’t hold it any longer and it fell to the ground. I put my head back into my daughter’s arms, and we both cried.

The next morning, I went to the river with the intention of committing suicide, but when I stood on the steep dike, looking at the swirling red water like blood, I was afraid... And I sought out opium smoke to relieve my sadness. I was drunk, drifting in the dreamy clouds and wind. And gradually, I became addicted. Avoiding this sadness only to encounter another pain. When I had a seizure, I craved drugs so much that I struggled. But everything in the house had been sold, only my mother's coffin remained... But my father had left his will, and besides, who would buy a coffin if I sold it? The addiction tormented me, I could not bear it. At the last moment, I thought of a trick that perhaps even animals could not think of, I dragged my 4-year-old child to beat her up, then forced her to hold the basket and go begging.

The girl was afraid of being beaten, holding a basket in her hand, wandering around the village and the market, begging: "Please, gentlemen, ladies, give me and my father a bowl of rice, some money..."! Looking at her like that, the old and the young all shed tears. Some gave rice, some gave money, so that bastard father like me had money to smoke opium. People got tired of that scene. No one could give forever, only the poor girl suffered, no one gave, when she carried the basket home, her father roared and beat her to a pulp. When the child was ragged, clasped his hands in prayer, I threw down the whip and cried. So I let my child go, to personally "get involved". At night, I went out to steal, stole chickens, stole ducks, stole anything that could be sold for money to smoke opium... Once, I stole a TV but couldn't sell it, hid it in a goose cage, and the owner discovered it.

Luckily for me, the neighbor did not report to the authorities, he only said one sentence: "You are a man who has lost all humanity. In this life, the father begged to feed his children, but you forced your children to beg to feed you for drugs, and now you are stealing." I was so humiliated, but I still did not wake up. After that, I carried out a big theft. This time I was arrested, they tied me up and took me to the commune police. The village artist became a criminal, a criminal, a thief caught red-handed. The file was sent to the district police to complete. I was temporarily released.

After that public exposure, it seemed like my conscience had awakened. I clasped my hands and begged my friends and neighbors to help me quit my addiction. The commune youth union secretary was a friend, so he immediately summoned the youth and villagers to discuss ways to help me. Seeing that I wanted to be honest, everyone supported me immediately, giving me money, rice, fruit, and food. It was summer, and during the day I showed off all my artistic talents, practicing for the neighborhood youth team, preparing for the exam. At night, the youth union sent 3-4 people to my house. They burned all my clothes, and threw away anything in the house related to opium. Everyone joined hands to buy things for my father and I. Around 10 to 12 o'clock at night was when I had an addiction attack. The group of young men held me down, tied me up, and used chains to hang me upside down from the rafters.

The first day, I begged until my mouth was foaming, screaming like crazy. After nearly two hours of writhing, people helped me down. At that time, my body was limp. I passed out in my sleep, until morning. The next day, the day after that... That hanging thing lasted for two months. And a miracle happened, I was no longer addicted and no longer craved drugs. The whole village clapped their hands in celebration, happiness had come to me? That afternoon, at a communal art performance, my singing rose up again, touching people's hearts. At the same time, something unexpected happened. A car carrying several policemen arrived, arresting Nguyen Van Vinh for theft of people's property, the file was now complete. I had to go to jail for 2 years. That happened exactly at 2:00 p.m. on September 2. I cried, the whole village cried, but when I got on the bus, I clasped my hands together, thanked the villagers for taking care of me and helping me, asked them to take care of my old mother and young child, I will go back to start my life over...

I had to pay for my slips and mistakes in life, that was inevitable. However, I was happier because I had moments of enlightenment while being imprisoned in the camp. Luckily for me, I always received encouragement from my hometown, the youth union, and my neighbors, who took turns visiting me. That made me cry many nights. I no longer wished for time to turn back, but wished that these two years would pass quickly, so that I could return to apologize to my parents, my daughter, and repay my debt of gratitude in life.

Le Phuong

(Yen Thanh)