Short story: The sunlit steps

"Oh, Grandma, I miss you so much!" - Mrs. Lanh was sweeping the fallen leaves in the backyard after the unseasonal rain last night when she heard a voice that sounded like her husband's. She stopped, looked up, and saw him standing on the steps. The early morning sunlight cast his shadow on the wall, shimmering like a film reel with its muted, old-fashioned colors. In that moment, she clearly saw a more soulful look in his eyes, or was it just her imagination?
It had been so long since she'd heard him utter words of love. Well, they were getting old; who still spoke those sweet words like young people used to? She knew that, but she never expected him to say them to her so naturally now.
"Husband, why aren't you staying in the room to keep warm instead of coming out here?" "Wife, I love you so much!" Even though they were alone in the house, she still felt a little shy, just like when they were young, whenever he confessed his love to her.
In the early morning mist, the slight chill from the breeze made her shiver slightly. She put down the broom and helped him back to bed.

***

It's been almost a year since his accident. It was the time he got completely drunk and lost consciousness. When he was home, every time he got drunk, his wife would rush out to lock the gate. As long as he didn't leave the gate, he was safe. But somehow, he still managed to sneak out. The last time he sneaked out, just like before, he went straight to Mr. Six Kien's house and started cursing. He cursed from generation to generation, using all sorts of terrible words that he couldn't remember when he sobered up. Mrs. Lanh kept asking him until he finally told her about the land encroachment that had been going on since his father's time. "That's all in the past!" Mrs. Lanh said, and he agreed, but when he got drunk again, the resentment would resurface completely.
That time, right in the middle of the night, passersby found him lying on the side of the road, barely alive, and thought he was dead. They took him to the hospital and tried to contact his family. The next day, his wife heard the news but wasn't allowed to go in. The children were afraid that if she saw his condition, she wouldn't be able to bear it and would fall ill, making things even worse.
Later, Ba told his mother that his father had been beaten, that if he had just fallen while drunk, he wouldn't have been covered in scrapes and bleeding profusely. Luckily, he survived. Hai, who works in law, was gathering evidence to prosecute the perpetrator, but he couldn't find anything. There were no security cameras in the countryside, the person who brought him to the hospital didn't know anything, and the local police, seeing that the victim had regained consciousness, didn't pay any more attention. Hai also gave up, considering his father's survival a great blessing!
It's true that there's a silver lining in every cloud. He woke up from his coma, his memory a mix of ups and downs. But what he completely forgot made the whole family overjoyed, like they'd won the lottery: He forgot to drink alcohol and smoke – two habits that had been ingrained in him since his youth, habits he thought he could never quit.
She would never forget the brutal beatings from her husband's drunken rage, simply because she couldn't escape in time. She was getting older, no longer as quick-witted as she was in her youth. Her three children often visited home, witnessing their father drunk and chasing their mother, their eyes filled with sorrow. They felt sorry for their father, their mother, and for their intertwined destinies, bound together only to reach a dead end, a hopeless situation with no way out. People say, "It's hard to quit anything, but alcohol is!" She was utterly despairing because her advice was like wind blowing past his ears. Many times at the hospital, the doctor would prescribe medication while asking him, "This illness can only be cured by quitting alcohol. Can you quit?" He would shake his head quickly: "I've tried, but I can't." "Then you accept the illness, there's no point in wasting money on medicine." He would reply nonchalantly, "I'll still take the medicine, but I won't quit drinking."
She had witnessed his near-death experiences, mostly due to alcohol. Sometimes, before his illness had even relapsed, he would drink heavily and collapse somewhere, and neighbors would bring him home in a terrible state, a sight that evoked both pity and anger.
This time, the doctor said he drank too much alcohol and suffered brain atrophy; when he's discharged from the hospital, he'll be like a child.
Every meal, he would demand to eat even before the rice was fully cooked. She would set the table for him to sit and eat. If the food wasn't to his liking, he would spill it all over the house. She would watch, her heart aching with anger, regretting both her efforts and the waste. Once, early in the morning, seeing him defecate all over the house, she burst into tears like a child. She looked up at the ancestral altar, wondering what sin she had committed to have to serve a man in his semi-conscious state at the age of 70, with graying hair, still serving him like this?
The children loved their father and mother dearly, but they lived far away. They sought a way to free their mother from her burden by placing their father in a nursing home. The youngest daughter inquired in nearby areas of her city, but people said they wouldn't accept someone with a lack of self-control like her father. They added that if a place did accept him, the cost would be very high, reaching tens of millions of dong.
Tư, being more hot-tempered, said, "If Dad is going to be so unreasonable, let's move into the storeroom and lock the door!" She couldn't bear to hear that; wouldn't that be like imprisoning him? And would he even allow himself to be imprisoned? He used to be so gentle and easygoing, but now he was so ill-tempered and destructive. In moments of despair, she could only cry out to heaven and pray to her ancestors before the altar, letting her tears flow freely.
"A child just needs love"—she heard that in the dead of night, when sleep refused to come.

***

The morning was chilly. The cold reminded her of peaceful days gone by. This season, both the weather and the scenery of her hometown were beautiful! Beautiful like a painting, captivating the viewer. When they were young, her husband used to take her along roads lined with wildflowers. Flowers bloomed profusely from the gently sloping hillsides, as beautiful as any tourist destination. Once, he told her that perhaps this place would become a famous tourist spot someday, because in winter it seemed to transform, becoming strangely beautiful.
One winter morning, he took her for a walk and they stopped at a roadside mushroom porridge stall. The porridge, made with just mushrooms, was so delicious to the last drop that she remembered it fondly. The owner explained that the mushrooms grew in the highlands and only appeared once a year during this chilly season. To fully capture the mushroom's flavor, every step had to be carefully done, from picking the mushrooms without crushing them to using the right type of rice to achieve the perfect consistency. The sweetness from the mushrooms combined with the rice paste created a naturally fragrant and sweet flavor that required no additional seasoning.
This morning, she suddenly remembered mushroom porridge. On such a cold day, a bowl of mushroom porridge sprinkled with fresh herbs and cilantro from her garden would be perfect. She put a pot of plain rice porridge on the stove and walked to the nearby market to see if she could find any good mushrooms to buy for the porridge.
"These mushrooms are delicious! My son just picked them this morning. They're great stir-fried, braised in soy sauce, or in porridge!" the young mushroom seller said enthusiastically. The old woman emptied the mushrooms into her bag, stopped to buy some food for lunch, and hurried home to her husband.
"Dad, here's your favorite mushroom porridge!" she said, bringing two bowls of porridge to the table. Today, she wanted to eat with him. As they ate, she leisurely recounted stories of the old days when he used to take her to eat mushroom porridge. Occasionally, she would turn to him and ask, "Do you remember?" She noticed he was gentler, cooperating with pleasant nods, though his eyes remained distant and unfocused.
Her joy now simply comes from seeing him finish the rice she gives him, eating neatly, leaving no food uneaten, and not intentionally spilling it on the floor. She noticed that he listens when she coaxes him, but reacts by throwing and breaking things in the house when she scolds him.
In the afternoon, he refused to take a shower, so his wife coaxed him, "Go take a shower and get clean, then call our youngest daughter!", and he would go. He liked talking to his youngest daughter because her voice was so sweet, everything she said was pleasant to listen to. But in all the calls, only his youngest daughter spoke; he didn't know what to say in return.
This time, she saw his lips move as if he wanted to speak. On the video call screen, their youngest daughter was also waiting to hear her father's voice. Finally, he spoke: "When you get home, call me so I can open the door!" She stared at him in astonishment. On the other side, their youngest daughter was also in tears of joy!

***

Just yesterday, the weather was hot and humid, but this morning it has turned cool after last night's rain. These crisp mornings often bring her surprises, like the confession her husband made to her this morning.
Breakfast was served by his wife: two bowls of red bean porridge cooked with oats, black sesame seeds, and red dates. He sat and ate like a well-behaved child.
There was a call at the gate, and she started to get up, but he sprang to his feet faster: "Our youngest daughter is home!" She looked out in surprise; indeed, it was their youngest daughter standing at the gate. Afraid he might slip and fall, she offered to go open the gate for her, but he brushed her off: "I promised yesterday I would open the gate for her!"
She stepped back, anxiously watching his every move on the steps bathed in the golden rays of the early morning sun.
But today he wasn't as slow as usual; his posture was straight, each step light and effortless. She watched him until she saw the small figure of their youngest daughter nestled in his arms, her eyes blurring with tears of happiness.

La Thi Anh Huong