Short story: Years of Nostalgia

After the scorching sun, the weather had softened. The small path leading to the swamp was covered in blooming bougainvillea. Mr. Phong called out, "Where's the person who produces the most rice in the area?" "I'm here, I'm here!" Mr. Phong couldn't hide his joy. "We have news of Tuệ." Mr. Phong's words brought a smile to Mr. Hành's sweat-drenched face. The two men quickly exchanged information about the connection they had made and the valuable details they had obtained about the fallen soldier Tuệ. They planned to return to the old battlefield at the end of the week to gather more information and then complete the procedures to bring Tuệ back to his hometown.

After dinner, Mr. Hành started preparing his belongings. As he opened the cupboard to retrieve his briefcase, his hand touched the package containing Mr. Tuệ's soldier's uniform. The uniform was faded, but every time he looked at it, his eyes welled up with tears. He called Mr. Phong, as if to reassure himself: "Hopefully, our efforts will be rewarded. I thought there was no hope left." Mr. Phong laughed heartily: "A woman's hard work is never unappreciated by her husband. Perhaps Tuệ led us astray."

The night was silent. His eyes were wide open. Mr. Hành went to the corner of the yard and quietly gazed at the blooming night-blooming cereus. The moon shone brightly. The entire countryside seemed gilded by the moonlight. Memories led him back to a time of hardship and heroism…

***

He volunteered to enlist on a day of heavy rain. The fields were flooded. The tall, strong young man was selected for special forces training and then sent to the battlefield in Zone B. Back home, he had fallen for a gentle girl next door. Her image followed him every step of the march, every battle. One time, a wounded comrade was on leave, and Mr. Hành asked him to deliver a letter to his parents, along with a poem for his neighbor. In Quang Ngai, his comrade was ambushed and killed by the enemy. After burying his comrade, another soldier continued to deliver the letter to the address written there. He thought the person he had buried was Le Duy Hành, so he stood before Mr. Hành's parents and said, "I offer my condolences to you both... Mr. Hành has sacrificed his life..."

After fighting relentlessly, Mr. Hành was wounded five times. After liberation, he returned to work in military administration in Nha Trang, then went north in 1976, and was able to visit home. Facing the silent house and his elderly parents, he embraced them and wept. His mother choked back tears: "Thank God, everyone thought you were..."

All the sorrow and despair transformed into overwhelming joy. The house felt warmer. The veteran, with tears in his eyes, lit incense at the altar bearing… his own image. That afternoon, he tried to talk to his neighbor, but she had remarried. His heart ached. Laughter, tears, and losses were commonplace during times of turmoil and bombs. He felt heartbroken upon seeing his relatives and neighbors again. The village nestled beside a small river, inhabited only by the elderly, women, and children. War had claimed so many strong, healthy young men, and returned men riddled with wounds…

May was filled with the fragrant smoke of incense. It was a time of sorrow and grief, yet people still had to live. Mr. Hành married Mrs. Hoa, the widow of a fallen soldier from a neighboring village, and they had one son. Their sons and daughters were born one after another. The former soldier worked hard to make a living and repay his parents' kindness. He both farmed and sold fish sauce and salt. After three years of hard work, poverty remained. His wounds prevented him from navigating the difficult business world. He returned to his hometown, borrowed money, rented ponds and reclaimed land to cultivate crops and raise fish. Difficulties piled upon difficulties. The villagers admired Mr. and Mrs. Hành for daring to transform a stagnant, overgrown area into a beautiful, dreamlike farm.

***

Returning to the village a year after Mr. Hành, Mr. Phong's steps were unsteady, his eyesight failing, but he refused to surrender to hardship. Two years later, he married and devoted himself to the crops. His wife, three years older than him, was hardworking and kind. Their lives were full of hardships, like the fields constantly exposed to the summer sun. She gave birth to three children, two of whom were "not as intelligent as other children," named Hiền, Lương, and Vượng. Of the three, Lương was the most intelligent, but he only studied up to the fourth grade before dropping out. He still thought that the difficulties now were nothing compared to the past, and encouraged his wife: "God provides for everything." The two of them worked together, and life became less arduous. On one occasion, he visited a comrade who had lost an arm in the neighboring village and saw the dusty water bottles and backpacks in the corner of the house. While talking about who was still alive and who had passed away, his comrade exclaimed: "Who will remember our time?"

From then on, Mr. Phong conceived the idea of ​​collecting artifacts to serve as a bridge connecting the past, present, and future. During his collecting trips, he also connected information to locate the graves of fallen soldiers. Some called him eccentric. Others said he was crazy. He ignored them. He knew what he needed and had "reasoned" with his wife and children. Initially, his wife didn't listen, but later, seeing her husband's determination to do good, she agreed to let him bring the artifacts home. He traveled relentlessly, like a moth drawn to a flame. In twenty-five years, with a thousand artifacts, he contributed to finding dozens of remains of fallen soldiers and connecting thousands of pieces of information. One wonders where he found the strength to do so much…

***

The morning was bright and clear. The car emerged from the small alley onto the main road, heading towards the old battlefield. Mr. Phong felt reassured by the information he had gathered. He had sung a lot on this trip. After five days and four nights, the rented car returned. It was a beautiful sunny day. His homeland opened its arms. His comrades rejoiced. Martyr Tuệ was brought back for burial in his hometown cemetery. Mr. Phong couldn't hide his joy at having completed another righteous deed. Conversely, deep down, Mr. Hành felt a pang of sadness. He had promised Martyr Tuệ's wife, but he didn't believe he could find her husband's remains.

With the family of the fallen soldier Tuệ finished their work, Mr. Hành opened the cupboard and took the old soldier's uniform to Mr. Phong's house. The space was filled with many mementos. There were bomb casings, bullet casings, pilot's helmets from both our army and the enemy. There were padded jackets, water bottles, pith helmets, bayonets. On one side were the casings of an Mk 82 bomb with its flaps, flare shells, and in the right corner were some wartime communication equipment… Mr. Phong's "house of mementos" was like a small museum with artifacts that spoke volumes.

The birds chirped on the clothesline in the yard. Under the starfruit tree laden with fruit, Mr. Phong had set up a stone table and chairs for tea. The scent of lotus tea filled the air. After taking his first sip, Mr. Hành sighed wistfully:

- There's something I hope you understand. I used to think you were crazy for using family money to frantically search, connect, and piece together information to find the remains of your comrades, while your children were suffering so much. Now I'm bringing you the shirt that Tuệ left at home, for you to display. This is the only memento of Tuệ that his wife gave me more than ten years ago.

Mr. Phong took Mr. Hành's hand:

- If she gave it to you, then keep it; I have no intention of competing with you for a keepsake.

Mr. Hành shook his head:

- No. This memento has to be placed here to be meaningful. To be honest, although we weren't in the same unit, we both went through military life, facing life and death together. I'm narrow-minded, secretly comparing myself to you over the years, even comparing the things you've done. You worked harder than me, yet you persevered and did things others wouldn't dare. How admirable! And then there's my son, that time he was disrespectful to you. I didn't scold him, instead I defended him fiercely.

Mr. Phong interjected:

- Look. Your beautiful pond is proof of a never-give-up spirit. I know that in the early years, you also had crop failures, and your wife and children went hungry. But you overcame it. As for children, it's normal for them to be disrespectful to adults when they don't understand. Now he has two children, doesn't he?

The atmosphere became more tense. The conversation felt a little formal.

Mr. Phong didn't want the conversation to become serious, so he tried to soften the tone.

Luong, Mr. Phong's son, had been listening to their conversation for some time. He finally spoke up:

- My father and uncle don't dwell on heavy things. The less you think about it, the lighter your heart will be. What deserves to be let go of, you should let go of…

Thanks to Luong, the two men forgot about formalities. Mr. Phong received the package and confided about his upcoming trip. It was still about information regarding the remains of fallen soldiers and searching for mementos. Time had blurred many memories, so Mr. Phong wanted to take every opportunity to find these items. He showed them to Mr. Hanh:

- My grandson is very good at making bird cages, and he's getting more and more orders, so I'm getting quite a bit of financial help for each trip. The writing on the artifacts is all thanks to him, sir. He's very clever now.

When Mr. Hanh said that Luong needed someone to "take care of his clothes and dress him," he shook his head.

- I'll stay here and take care of the museum for my father later, Uncle!

Mr. Phong was happy because all three of his children had done better over the past three years. Luong was bolder and more resourceful. He was getting to know someone and, if things went well, they would get married at the end of the year. When he learned that his friend's eldest and youngest daughters had learned a trade, knew how to work, and could support themselves, Mr. Hanh was overjoyed.

I don't know how to express it, but he's truly excellent at handling things.

Mr. Phong laughed heartily:

- It's all thanks to my wife. She manages the farm, runs the market, and takes care of the children. I feel fortunate. And you're even smarter than most people. You sell tens of tons of rice every year.

Luong carried the cage, inside which were a pair of beautiful nightingales, to stand before his father and Mr. Hanh.

- If you don't mind, I'd like to give you this pair of birds. You can place the cage on your porch, and you'll hear them singing whether you're gardening or by the pond.

Mr. Hành looked at Mr. Phong. Mr. Phong nodded.

- Okay. I'll accept it. I really don't know how to thank you both enough.

The evening mist had long since faded. Mr. Hành carried his birdcage home. His heart felt light, relieved of the tangled thoughts that had been swirling around him. At the entrance to the lane, a long strip of vibrant, multicolored bougainvillea lit up the air, as if welcoming him. The two birds had already begun to sing their first notes in the fragrant garden filled with flowers and fruit. Mr. Hành spoke to the birds, and also to himself: "Mr. Phong has succeeded in teaching Lương. Excellent. Truly excellent!"